


Sharpen Your Claws

by KivaEmber



Series: Wine Cellar [33]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Accidental adoption????, Aftermath of Violence, Bigotry & Prejudice, Blood and Violence, Childhood Trauma, Family Feels, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Prostitution, M/M, Male!WoL - Freeform, Mental Breakdown, Miqo'te!WoL - Freeform, Moving On, Panic Attacks, Poor Life Choices, Post-Stormblood, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Patch 4.3, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, WoL is not good with traumatised kids, also aza is fucked up in weird ways, also worldbuilding, maybe????, politics is in there somewhere too, this is not how you deal with newmade orphans aza
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-05-18 17:13:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 57,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14856833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KivaEmber/pseuds/KivaEmber
Summary: “Will you,” she croaked, “hurt me?”“Of course not,” the Man smiled, “But it’s not me you have to worry about.”Or;Aza finds a newly made orphan on the side of the road.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

It was when everything had gone terribly quiet that Sameh dared to creep out of the bushes.

The small wooden cart that Ma had been so proud in making was overturned, its wooden wheel splintered halfway down, all bent and useless. The boxes that had all their belongings were strewn around it, all emptied with the less valuable contents left messily on the ground. Sameh noticed it was mostly her clothes – small and roughly made, because Ma wasn’t too good at sewing but she tried – with bootprints and red- red splatters on some of them from when…

The Chocobo, the small, kind of runty one Ma won off a trader on the road from a game of cards lay on the ground. It was…

Sameh stayed near the bushes she crawled out of, shivering. The cart was overturned and the runty Chocobo Ma let her name Nibbles, because he liked nibbling at her hair and ears, was sprawled on the ground, and, his yellow feathers were all sticky red and…

She couldn’t see Ma. But she knew where she was.

“Ma…” Sameh called weakly, her voice cracking. There wasn’t a reply. The cart blocked the view of where Ma was, and she looked at it fearfully. Something about it terrified her, how it just, sat there, with its broken wheel, its boxes all thrown everywhere. She wanted to go back in the bushes, close her eyes, and then hope and pray that when she opened them Ma would come pluck her out of the bushes and ruffle her ears, laughing how she was getting better at hiding, her little Huntress, but. But that wouldn’t happen. Sameh was, was old enough to know that.

Swallowing her fear, she climbed to her feet and walked forwards.

She lightly stepped over the overturned boxes, over her ruined clothes, around the cart until she saw Ma. She was on the floor. She wasn’t moving. The bad men that came for them had pinned her down here. Her clothes were all messy and torn off. There was a lot of red on her.

Sameh didn’t know how long she stood there, staring. It was like the world stopped existing. There was a cart. There was Nibbles on the floor. Ma was on the floor too. Her mind couldn’t move beyond that point. She didn’t want it too. So, she stared instead, not really seeing, shivering from the cold, snowy wind blowing through the last, scraggly trees of Gridania’s forest and wondered when she’d wake up.

“Hey.”

Sameh flinched at the voice, breathless with an abrupt, freezing terror that the bad men had come back for her. But no one grabbed her. The voice didn’t sound like the others. Trembling, she slowly turned, clutching her hands tight to her chest.

A Man stood on the side of the road – a Miqo’te man. He was standing right next to Nibbles with his bright, yellow eyes looking right at her. They reflected the moonlight coming down and looked like two twin discs of gold – a Keeper, he must be. Ma said only Keepers had eyes like them, so they could see in the dark unlike their Seeker cousins. It was why Ma was so bad walking about at night, and she would bump into things and curse then laugh, and ask her to be her eyes-

Sameh drew in a sharp, shuddering breath, knowing that wouldn’t happen anymore. The Man still hadn’t moved.

“Hey,” he repeated, his voice very low and calm. He took a step forward.

Sameh scrambled back, crying out when her shoulder struck the edge of the overturned cart and sent her sprawling on the floor. She landed hard on her tail, and it hurt, but she crawled and huddled behind the cart, her hands stinging and bleeding and her heart suddenly thumping in her throat. She couldn’t see the Man anymore and she didn’t _want_ to see him. She pressed her hands over her eyes, almost choked on her breath, and didn’t know what to do.

The Man muttered something, quietly, and she heard the ‘ _thump, thump_ ’ of his boots. He was circling the cart.

She kept her hands over her eyes. She waited to wake up.

The boots stopped near to her. She curled up tighter, tucking her tail close. She could feel tears roll down her cheeks, her throat burning with the effort to stay quiet. This was what she did when the bad men came. Ma told her to run and hide and be quiet, and she did, she stayed quiet, and Ma had yelled, then screamed, then cried, then gone quiet, and the bad men had laughed and laughed and…

Leather creaked, and metal clinked. The Man squatted down.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” the Man said.

Sameh bit her bottom lip and parted her fingers to peek through them. The Man was squatted in front of Ma so she couldn’t see her anymore. This close, she could see he had a breastplate on, polished up but scratched and pitted, and the ominous shape of a sword loomed over his shoulder. His gold disc eyes were staring right at her.

“Are you hurt?” The Man asked her.

“Ma…” she croaked, her gaze flicking past the Man to where she couldn’t see her. She already knew but, but maybe, maybe Ma was… there was magic, right? Travelers can do magic, Ma said. Maybe, she needed, she needed some magic and… “Is- Ma is…”

The Man said nothing. His eyes lowered, briefly, but then went back to looking at her.

“She’s… not waking up,” the Man said. His expression was very calm, almost blank of emotion. His tail flicked sharply and Sameh watched it, finding his stare scary.

The silence that fell on them was awkward and horrible. Sameh didn’t look at him, didn’t dare to, and after a while the Man just sighed.

“Okay,” he said and then he stood up. Sameh flinched, but he just walked away – to Ma.

“What,” she rasped when he bent over her. Suddenly she was on her feet, racing over to him, not caring he was bigger and armoured and had a sword, and grabbed right onto his tail, “No! Don’t touch Ma! Don’t!”

“ _Ow_ ,” the Man hissed, and she felt all the fur on his tail fluff up as she pulled, and he turned – she flinched, expecting to be cuffed, but he didn’t hit her. His expression was tense with pain, but he just dropped his gloved hand over hers, dwarfing them completely, and pried them off as gently as he could, “It’s okay. I’m not doing anything weird to h-”

“Don’t touch her!” Sameh cried, and she couldn’t stop then. It was like that lump she’d kept forcing down just broke open, “D-Don’t to- touch her! S-She’s- she’s n-not- she’s-!”

She couldn’t talk. The Man let go of her hands in surprise, and she just flopped to the floor on her butt, sobbing into her hands. She couldn’t stop. Every time she tried, it just choked out of her, making her head hurt and her stomach cramp and her throat burn. She felt like she was dying. She hated it.

The Man said nothing. He just stood there as she cried, until she was gasping and empty-feeling. The moonlight washed over him and it cast his face into a dark shadow. Somehow, it made him scarier than the bad men. He was like one of those Shadow Monsters in the story Ma told her, that crept after naughty children, closer and closer, until they snatched them in the deep of night to become Shadows themselves.

“What’s your name?” the Man asked quietly, when she was reduced to breathless sniffling.

“S-Sameh,” she hiccupped, wiping at her aching eyes with the back of her hand.

“Sameh,” the Man repeated, like he was committing it to memory, “Okay, Sameh. How do you do funerals where you’re from?”

Sameh stared up at him blankly. She didn’t know. Ma never spoke about what her family used to do – because Ma’s family hated Sameh. She wasn’t meant to be born, but Ma had her anyway, and then ran off with her. Ma did things as she did them, and she never had to have a funeral with anyone, because it was just them and Nibbles and Ma and none of them had to… to have a funeral because it was just them. Sameh would be – be the first.

“I-I don’t… I don’t know,” she whispered.

The Man looked at her for a long moment.

“Where I’m from,” he said, “We leave them out to be eaten by the animals.”

Sameh remembered when she saw a pack of wild dogs fighting over a deer corpse before, when Ma was teaching her how to sneak. She imagined that with Ma and felt sick. She clutched at her stomach, swallowing the burning in her mouth and mutely shook her head.

“Thought so,” the Man said wryly, “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know,” she said again. She didn’t want to think about Ma being eaten, but the alternatives was her… being buried? She doesn’t know. She didn’t like to think of dead things. But the thought of Ma being put into the cold ground, pushing dirt over her face… “I don’t know…”

“Well, whatever you choose to do, we can’t leave her like this,” The Man said, “I’m going to cover her up, so she’s decent, okay?”

Sameh’s gaze slowly drifted from the Man to Ma. Her clothes were ripped open with red everywhere – her sword was gone. Ma loved that sword. The realisation that it was _gone_ , that, that the bad men took that too, along with Ma was… she felt like she’d swallowed a hot coal, and it sat, sizzling and painful in her belly. This wasn’t right. Ma was big and strong and – not meant to lie on the floor like that, not meant to have, have her sword gone and, she wasn’t meant to-

“Hey, hey…” The Man murmured – and suddenly he was squatting down in front of her again, hiding Ma from view. His hands were held up, as if to grab her, but when she flinched he went still. They were covered in dark leather gloves. She wouldn’t be able to bite him.

“Sameh,” The Man said, and she turned her head away, biting her lip so hard she tasted something coppery. She didn’t want to talk anymore. She just wanted Ma. She wanted to be in the cart, watching Nibbles pull it and Ma swagger along it, and she wanted… she wanted…

“How did Bluebird even manage this…” The Man muttered to himself, climbing back to his feet.

Sameh closed her eyes.

 _‘Thump, thump’_ went the man’s boots as he walked around. She determinedly told herself she didn’t care. She wanted the Man to go away. She wanted this- _this_ to go away. She wanted _Ma_.

The Man’s boots walked back to her, stopped – then something hard and solid hit her in the chest.

She gasped, flinching from the dull, aching pain of it. Something tumbled onto her lap, and she froze, staring down at- the knife. There was a knife in her lap. It was skinny and covered in a plain, silver sheath, and her hands hovered over it uncertainly, her heart hammering hard against her ribs.

“You’ve got a weapon now,” The Man told her. He was looming over him again. All she could see were his eyes, reflecting the moonlight. Everything else was in shadow, “You can stab anyone who tries to hurt you, even me.”

Sameh’s stomach churned queasily, and she picked up the knife awkwardly. It felt weird in her hands – Ma was gonna teach her how to skin animals soon, using a knife like this – no, that knife was fatter, this one was… really skinny and light. She gingerly pulled the sheath off, and the knife’s blade glittered viciously underneath the moonlight. It was sharp and pointy.

Her palms were sweating and she struggled to swallow down the lump in her throat as she looked up at the Man. He was watching her.

“Will you,” she croaked, “hurt me?”

“Of course not,” the Man smiled, “But it’s not _me_ you have to worry about.”

The knife shook in her hand, and she clutched at its hilt with both hands, holding it close to her chest, the blade pointing out. Somewhere an owl screamed.

“The… men… who did this to your cart will be back,” the Man told her. His words were blunt, but not unkind, “They didn’t take everything, and if they’re who I think they are… they’ll be back for your Chocobo at least.”

“But…” Sameh felt like the air had grown thin, at the thought of the men coming back, her lungs burning, “B-But Nibbles- Nibbles is d-dead…”

“Food,” The Man said simply, “And it won’t only be those bastards, Sameh. Blood carries and it won’t be long until the wolves come sniffing either. They’ll kill and eat you just as easily as a dead Chocobo.”

Sameh stared at him blankly. She didn’t want to understand him.

“That knife won’t do much to protect you against either of those,” the Man continued, “Out here you’re weak and vulnerable. You need to get up and keep moving, so you can live and grieve later.”

Sameh struggled to speak, trying several times before forcing out, “B-But where… where should I go? I… Ma said, said we’d… she had a j-job, but, I-I don’t… don’t know…”

“Only place she could be going along here is…” The Man didn’t finish, his ears flicking forwards to attention. Sameh did the same, could hear – the distant howl of wolves. “Hmm, faster than I thought.”

Fear flooded her, turning her insides into water as she scrambled to her feet. The sheath clattered to the floor with a dull thump, and her sweaty, trembling hands fumbled at the hilt of the knife. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know what to do. Ma was _there_ – no funeral, Sameh didn’t know _how_ to, what to, when- she didn’t know-

The Man was watching her.

“What’re you going to do, Sameh?” he asked her, maddeningly indifferent to her terror, “You going to stay here and protect your Ma’s corpse, or run to live another day?”

Sameh couldn’t see. Her vision was all blurry and her eyes were burning and tears were rolling down her cheeks as she coughed out a wobbling, “ _I don’t know_!” She didn’t want to leave this behind! But she didn’t want to die, either! She didn’t want the bad men to get her, the wolves to eat her, to stay here alone and die of something else! But she didn’t know how to live without Ma and Nibbles and their cart! She didn’t know! _She didn’t know_!

“I do,” the Man said, and he stepped forwards, his hand rising to the hilt of his blade and-

Even with the little knife in her hands, Sameh didn’t even try to defend herself. She was frozen in place, the moonlight peeking from behind the cloud, shining down on the large sword the Man lifted from his back and-

-fast as lightning, he swung it over his shoulder in a sideways sweep that caught a lunging, pale shape darting from the bushes. There was a thick, meaty _squelch_ and _red_ and Sameh stared, horrified, as the wolf tumbled like a ragdoll on the ground, its skinny limbs flailing everywhere as it belly opened up with slimy, blue-pink snakes tumbling out. It stank so bad, and it looked- Sameh clapped a hand over her mouth, tasting burning in her throat, trying not to puke.

“Fucking _pests_ ,” the Man muttered contemptuously, his ear flicking in irritation as multiple eyes gleamed in the darkness. Low, shuddering growls echoed around them, and Sameh unthinkingly scrambled to the Man, clutching his leg, almost stabbing herself in the face with the knife as the wolves slinked out of the darkness, their fangs bared and their bodies skinny and lean.

Then the Man’s massive blade lowered in front of her like how a mother bird would shelter its chick with its wing, blocking everything from view. The metal was slimy with red, metal smelling ooze, and she could see the shape of a snarling Behemoth engraved into it. She could hear the wolves though, snarling and snapping their jaws, but.

The Man was unafraid.

“Close your eyes, Sameh,” he told her, his voice sounding strangely gentle, “And count to twenty.”

Sameh looked up but shielded as she was it was too dark to see anything. The Man shifted his weight, but the leg she was clinging to stayed in place. She heard the creak of his leather gloves as he tightened his grip on his blade.

She closed her eyes.

 

* * *

 

Knight Dralert stifled a yawn as he leaned heavily on his lance, his eyes drooping despite his best efforts to remain awake. Early morning guard shift was always terribly dull and _painful_ , no matter how much sleep he had beforehand. There was just something unnatural about waking up before the sun rose and preparing to stand in the freezing cold for hours on end.

He shifted his weight with a groan, wriggling his toes to return some bloodflow there as he made himself scan the horizon. The road leading up to Camp Dragonhead from Gridania was clearer than ever, Lord Emmanellain ordering the path to be tended to in the wake of Ishgard’s increasing acceptance of foreign workers and sellswords tending to the frontiers. They had so many visitors nowadays, though it escaped Dralert why. Who on earth would _willingly_ come to a frozen, backwater frontier camp like _Dragonhead_?

Dralert was about to try and steal a few sneaky winks of sleep when he spotted something in the distance. Frowning, he straightened up, squinting through the hazy, early-morning mist. The sun was only just peeking over the mountains, lighting the sky up in splashes of orange and pink, but everything was still dim and misty. He just hoped it wasn’t a dragon, or a lost Gobbue. Gods, he hated Gobbues.

But it wasn’t a dragon _or_ a Gobbue. As the something neared, he could see it was a man carrying… something. Dralert rubbed at his eyes.

When he looked up again, he realised it _was_ a man carrying _another_ person over their shoulder – and there was also another smaller person – child? – at their side. Dralert’s open confusion and curiosity slowly turned into concerned alarm as the man approached close enough for him to see…

“Ser Aza,” Dralert said dumbly, even though he was too far to hear. He scrambled out of his lazy slouch into attention, waiting with baited breath as the Warrior of Light stomped up to Camp Dragonhead’s front gates with a woman on his shoulder and a small, bloodied, Miqo’te child clinging to his free hand like it was her lifeline.

“Morning,” Ser Aza said when he was close enough to exchange pleasantries. He looked utterly unconcerned about the state he was in, “I don’t suppose the Chirugeon is awake yet?”

“N-No…” Dralert wasn’t sure what to look at first. Aza himself was utterly _soaked_ in blood. It was caked into the grooves and curves of his armour, soaked into the leather of his breeches, with smears of it streaked across his nose and cheek. Then there was the woman draped over his shoulder – boneless and slumped in a way that spoke of death, rather than mere unconsciousness. Then there was the child, a pale-haired, large eyed Miqo’te of about ten winters, who was staring fixedly into the distance, one small hand clutching Aza’s – the other squeezing the hilt of a short dagger. Dralert eyed her with the most wariness.

“Damn,” Aza muttered, “Never mind. I’ll just get Emmanellain to scramble him out of bed.”

“Sir,” Dralert stopped him before he could just stroll into camp, trying not to quail when Aza gave him an odd look, like he was a dog that suddenly began speaking Common to him. It _was_ rare for a lowly knight to command him, but… “Uh, the child, the _woman_ …?”

“Oh,” Aza glanced at the woman then at the child, “Bandit attack. I was going to talk to Emmanellain about it, since it looks like some thought to take advantage of the travellers coming this way.”

 _Bandits_? Indignation burned in Dralert. He knew their forces were stretched, but to think their patrols had enough of a hole for such cravens to carve a disgusting trade along their roads… “Say where, sir, and I will mass a patrol-”

“No need,” Aza cut him off, “I’ll hunt them down like the filthy animals they are later.”

Dralert shivered when Aza smiled at that, no doubt imagining his ‘hunt’ – it was a pleasant smile and fit his handsome face, but there was something too predatory and eerie about it. Everything was too predatory and eerie about Aza, honestly, but no sane man would dare say it aloud. The Lord Commander was absolutely smitten with this… _man_ and tended to react very negatively to anyone muttering about his… peculiarities within earshot.

Aza himself just didn’t seem to care. He knew he was a predator and wore the mantle proudly. Still, something made Dralert hold his tongue.

“They were kind enough to leave Sameh alive,” Aza continued, glancing down at the child. She hadn’t stirred once during their conversation, “Though, some would say it would’ve been kinder for her to go the same way as her mother…”

Dralert suddenly felt worried, “Luck, sir. It’s lucky she’s alive. She- ah, I’m sure she’ll be fine. Children are quick to bounce back-”

He stuttered to silence when Aza gave him a _look_. There wasn’t anything outwardly angry about it, but it was the way he just looked at him with those strange, beastly yellow eyes of him, like he was contemplating the best way to tear out his throat with minimal effort.

“Did you think I was going to mercy kill her?” he asked Dralert, sussing his worry with terrifying accuracy, “Don’t be stupid.”

Dralert didn’t dare say a word, painfully aware he had just shoved his foot knee deep into a dragon’s mouth.

“It’s up to her, anyways,” Aza said, looking away from him. Dralert felt safe enough to breathe, “Whether she keeps going on, or not.”

With that Aza clearly lost interest in him. Without so much as another word he continued on, pulling the girl after him, her mother dangling over his shoulder.

Dralert went back to scanning the road, suddenly very much awake with cold sweat prickling the back of his neck. Honestly, the Lord Commander must have balls of _mithril_ to willingly lie in bed with _that_ predator. He just oozed violent and murderous intentions just by breathing in the same space as you.

With a shiver, Dralert pushed it out of mind. He was just a lowly guard. What the Warrior of Light decided to do with some newly made orphan plucked literally out of the wilderness was not any of his business whatsoever. Nope. None.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very minor reference to rape in this chapter (but there is no actual rape, don't worry).

The sun hadn’t fully risen and already Emmanellain was having a bad day.

“Bandits,” he groaned, fighting the urge to cradle his head in despair at the grim knight standing before him. He’d been woken up early by Honoroit and rushed poste-haste to receive dire news, and it turned out to be a bandit problem of all things. Something that could’ve waited until the routine morning reports after Emmanellain’s breakfast – his stomach gave a quiet, unhappy rumble, reminding him sharply of his missed meal, but he stubbornly ignored it.

As hard as this job was, and as large and dark as Haurchefant’s shadow was, Emmanellain was determined to meet it… even if it meant missing breakfast over minor news.

“They’re preying on unwary travellers along the road to the camp, from Gridania,” Knight Mayix continued, politely ignoring Emmanellain’s open dismay, “Their recent victim is a young, Miqo’te mother, survived by her child-”

“Child?” Emmanellain interrupted, straightening up from where he’d slowly been slouching lower and lower in his seat, “Are they…?”

“She’s fine, physically,” Knight Mayix said a mite awkwardly, “The Chirugeon is looking her over as we speak.”

“Selort is awake?” Emmanellain said in surprise. Selort enjoyed his sleep just as much as Emmanellain, and nothing short of a dragon crashing into the walls of Camp Dragonhead would bestir him before the sun fully rose, “Is the world ending?”

“His almost did,” Knight Mayix joked wryly, his stiff posture relaxing a fraction, “The Warrior of Light brought the mother and child in, m’lord. He decided you were taking too long to wake up and marched to the infirmary to rouse the Chirugeon himself. From what I hear he physically ousted Selort from his own bed to tend to the child.”

Emmanellain tried very very _very_ hard to keep a straight face at that, clearing his throat to fight down the laughter threatening to bubble up. Only _Aza_ could get away with such audacious _rudeness_. Had he been anyone else, Emmanellain was sure Selort would’ve cuffed him around the ears and sent him out into the snowdrifts.

But then he realised what was just said, “Wait, the _Warrior of Light_? Aza brought in… oh, he must know about the bandits then…”

“He does,” Mayix’s mirth vanished, “He told Delort that he plans to hunt down the group at some point. I thought it best to tell you, m’lord, as this does infringe on our… responsibilities.”

Emmanellain sighed at the pointed comment. Aza probably thought he was helping, but he really wasn’t with things like this. Camp Dragonhead already had a strike for failing to identify a bandit group in their territory, but to have an adventurer, even if they were the Warrior of Light, sweep in and solve the problem for them before they could even investigate it? It looked bad. It made them _feel_ bad.

“I’ll talk to him,” he said, pushing himself up from his chair. His stomach cramped with hunger again, and Emmanellain kind of wished he could just let Aza do as he pleased. His life would be so much easier, “Is he still at Selort’s?”

“Revonne’s,” Mayix said, “Last I heard he was giving the mother over to her.”

So, either Selort’s or Revonne’s. They were in the same building at least, so Emmanellain wouldn’t have to walk far.

“Thank you, Knight Mayix,” Emmanellain said, “In my absence, collect Honoroit and tighten up the patrol rotations, will you? We’ll need to see how these bandits managed to set up shop so close to the main road.”

“Yes, m’lord.”

Mayix gave him a formal bow and quickly left. Emmanellain sighed in the sudden quiet, pinching at the bridge of his nose. Oh, why did he feel like this was going to go _terribly_ …?

 

* * *

 

“Well, she didn’t die easy.”

“Yeah, I kind of gathered that.”

Revonne looked up from the messy corpse on the table before her. The Warrior of Light stood opposite her, looking rather lackadaisical about the fact he’d been carting about a dead woman for a good hour. At this point the woman was stiffening up, the blood all black and congealed and the skin an ugly pallor. Revonne wished she could say that the Miqo’te would’ve been beautiful in life, but her face was so mutilated it was difficult to tell.

“You said she was a mother?” Revonne asked after a pause, looking back down at the body. Quite short – she supposed. The same height as the Warrior of Light, so this might be average for Miqo’te for all she knew. Slender build – but muscular. Very firm and lean. A fighter or a labourer. Sadly a very blood mess. Revonne could tell which wounds were the fatal ones – but she could see too many _non-fatal_ ones. These were meant to hurt. They tortured this poor woman… why?

“Yeah, a daughter called Sameh,” The Warrior of Light said. He was looking down at the woman as well with a blank expression, “According to her, she fought off the bad men while Sameh hid in the bushes. They overpowered her, though.”

That probably explained the torture then. If the woman put up enough of a fight, wounded one of them… they probably felt inspired to put her back in her place. Bandits were the lowest scum of society, after all. It wouldn’t surprise Revonne.

“Is there…” the Warrior of Light paused, some strange expression flickering across his face. It passed too quickly for Revonne to decipher it, “Is this it for her?”

“What do you mean?”

The Warrior of Light’s gaze pointedly glanced down, at the woman’s groin.

Ah. “Her clothes were in a heavy state of ruin… but that may’ve just been from the amount of times they stabbed her. Let me check.”

The Warrior of Light watched her with an eerie intensity that made her shoulder blades itch. Revonne gingerly peeled off the leather breeches valiantly clinging to the woman’s thighs – the blood had practically glued it in place, and she looked, trying to spot the tell-tale signs of violation. With a body this fresh, even with everything… coagulating, if there were a gang of them there should be physical signs, but…

“No,” Revonne concluded, leaning away, “They didn’t descend to that level of depravity, at least.”

The Warrior of Light relaxed a fraction, and it was only then that Revonne realised how tense and agitated he was. She eyed him with a mix of curiosity and wariness. She always found the Warrior of Light to be rather… weird, at times. He was incredibly mercurial with such strange turns… there were many unsavoury, hushed rumours about the man. The way he acted, the things he said… he just didn’t _act_ like how a Warrior of Light was expected to act. They should be paragons of goodness, noble and bright and all that cliché shite.

Instead they had this neurotic, paranoid hot mess. She supposed beggars can’t be choosers, though. If this was who the Twelve saw fit to gift them in their hour of need, then they just had to deal with it.

“Is something the matter, Ser Aza?” she asked carefully.

“Nothing’s wrong,” the Warrior of Light said blandly, looking the dead woman over one more time. His gaze lingered on her mutilated face for a long, uncomfortable moment before he abruptly looked away, “I’d be grateful if you could… clean her up a bit. Sameh’ll want to deal with her how her… people do.”

“’Her people’?” Revonne questioned, “Aren’t you both Miqo’te?”

The Warrior of Light let out an unflattering scoff, “I haven’t been a Miqo’te in twenty years.”

Revonne said nothing to that.

“Please just tend to her,” the Warrior of Light said, “I’ll pay you, if need be. Just make her less… frightening for Sameh.”

And without so much as waiting for a response, he turned away and walked out of the mortuary. Well, how rude. But Ser Aza wasn’t known for his social skills. It was common enough for him to merely wander away from conversations that didn’t interest him, especially if the person speaking to him was a stranger. He only put effort into those he cared about.

“You’re very lucky, Miss Miqo’te,” Revonne told her new friend, “Your suffering paid off. The Warrior of Light himself has taken it upon himself to look after your daughter.”

Miss Miqo’te, unsurprisingly, didn’t answer her.

“Yeah,” she sighed, pulling on her gloves, “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing either.”

 

* * *

 

Sameh was still waiting to wake up.

She was someplace strange now. The Man had left her in this room with cold stone walls and a grumpy, tall man who poked and prodded at her. He kept speaking to her, but she didn’t care what he was saying and found it difficult to understand. Her head hurt. Her feet hurt. Her chest hurt. Her palms hurt.

She kept holding the knife though. She held it tight.

“It’s like speaking to a wall,” Tall Man grumbled, giving her a final poke on the shoulder. He had fussed over where the Man had accidentally dripped red on her initially. Then he realised she wasn’t hurt except for her scraped palms, but she refused to let go of the knife so he left them alone. She wondered why the Man wasn’t here. He took Ma away. She wondered if he was feeding her to the animals, like he said his family did.

She remembered the wolves then. She remembered the one that tumbled over, with blue-pink snakes falling out of its belly. The rest of the wolves had been the same. She opened her eyes after the twenty seconds and saw them all scattered around them. She had thrown up on the Man’s boots.

She didn’t remember… after that, things were so hazy.

Tall Man was looking down at her. His mouth was twisted in an unhappy line and he had dark smudges under his eyes, like Ma did. The similarity made her belly twist so hard she felt ill.

 _‘Thump, thump’_ went familiar boots, and Sameh stirred enough to see the Man come back. He was still covered in red, and he smelled like oil and sweat and copper. He looked weird without his Shadows creeping over his face. The stone room was brightly lit, and it revealed a pretty face, with soft looking, pale brown hair that looked like Ma’s. He didn’t look scary at all, even with the blood.

His eyes weren’t like hers, though. Even though they shone like a Keeper’s, they were bright yellow Seeker eyes. The pupils were very thin and narrow in the bright light of the room, and he was squinting like it hurt his eyes. It probably did. It was hurting Sameh’s.

“Master Aza,” Tall Man said, and Sameh started. The Man had a name? “The child’s physically unharmed, but mentally…”

“I told you not to call me ‘Master’,” The Man, no, _Aza_ , interrupted, his gaze settling on her. It felt like a physical weight, but she looked back, finding her grip on her knife relaxing a little. She knew Aza would protect her, even if he was… weird and scary. He stood in front of the wolves and helped her. He carried Ma even though he didn’t have to. He took her to… here. But Ma always said men didn’t do things without wanting something, but Sameh didn’t know what the Man could want from her. She had nothing.

“Sameh,” Aza said, stepping towards her. He circled around a squat table covered in brightly coloured bottles, and he smiled at her. With his Seeker eyes and hair like Ma’s, and that smile, and _knowing_ ‘he’ll protect me’, Sameh felt that awful painful knot in her stomach relax a little. Only a little though.

“I took your Ma to a woman called Revonne,” Aza continued when he stopped in front of her. Tall Man had stepped aside and watching them with a weirdly focused look, mostly at Aza though, “She’s looking after her for you. So, you’ll have time to decide how to send her off now.”

“Send… her off?” Sameh repeated hoarsely. Her throat hurt.

“Mm, you still haven’t decided how her funeral should be.”

“Mas- uh, Ser Aza,” Tall Man said uneasily, “She’s a child. Funeral matters should be decided by adults-”

“There’s no other adults to decide for her,” Aza said with a frown, looking at Tall Man like he was saying something very silly.

Tall Man stared right back, “… _we’re_ adults, sir.”

“Strangers shouldn’t intrude on these things,” Aza said, turning away from Tall Man and back to her, “Do you want us to decide for you, Sameh?”

Sameh didn’t know. She didn’t want to think of Ma, cold and covered and red and not moving. But she liked the thought of handing Ma over to someone else and not… she should say goodbye properly, right? But how was she meant to…? She didn’t want her eaten. She didn’t want her buried. She didn’t want to say goodbye at all.

“Sir, she’s _too young_ ,” Tall Man persisted, but Aza just flicked his tail rudely at him.

“I want-” Sameh licked her lips nervously underneath the weight of Aza’s intense stare, “I want to say goodbye… I should, say goodbye to Ma properly… right?”

“If you want to.”

Sameh fiddled with the knife. Her palms were scabbed over now, but some of the scrapes were still oozing red. It stained the handle, “What do you do?” she asked Tall Man.

Tall Man twitched when he became the sudden focus of attention, frowning between the two of them, “We used to bury them,” he muttered after a long, tense pause, “But with this perpetual winter we’re in the ground became too frozen… so, they’re usually cremated nowadays.”

“Burned,” Aza elaborated when she stared blankly, “They’re burned to ash and scattered on the wind.”

Sameh thought about that. Ma always said leaving her tribe was the best decision of her life. Being free, she called it, and she said travelling where the wind took them was what made her happiest and… it sounded right, that Ma should do that even when- when… Sameh tried not to think about the burning part though. She thought about Ma flying on the wind and felt her eyes sting and throat close. She struggled to swallow it down. 

“M-Ma would… would like that,” she forced out, her vision going blurry, “I want to do that.”

“Okay,” Aza said, “We’ll do that.”

Except… Ma wasn’t Ma without… “But,” she began, and paused, realising that it was pointless now. They were away from where the bad men attacked them, and Aza had already been so kind to her. But thinking about this was easier than thinking about after Ma’s send off. After Ma was gone, _gone_ gone, then, what was Sameh meant to do? That was scary to think about.

“But…?” Aza prompted when the silence lapsed between them.

Sameh held her knife tight between her hands, hard enough that it hurt, “Ma… Ma had a sword, a… it was special. Um, she- she loved it, a-and if, if she’s gonna go… go fly on the wind she, she should have it. But, the… the bad men…”

“I see,” Aza said, his expression going very blank and still.

“It’s t-too… too much to ask for…” Sameh continued timidly, taking his expression for insult, “I… I’m sorry-”

“No,” Aza interrupted, “No, it’s not too much to ask for. Don’t worry, Sameh. I’ll get your Ma’s sword back for you.”

“Sir…” Tall Man murmured worriedly.

Aza flicked his tail at him again, but looked his way this time, “What?”

“Lord Emmanellain may want to investigate the bandits himself. If you petition him appropriately, he may focus on recovering this sword for Miss Sameh, along with the rest of her possessions.”

“That’ll take too long,” Aza complained, “I’ll be able to do it within the next few hours.”

Tall Man frowned and looked disapproving, but it was like water off a duck’s back with Aza. He just ignored him, glancing back at her with a boyish grin. She could see sharp fangs in his smile.

“Sit tight, Sameh,” he told her, and he reached out. She held back a flinch, holding still when he ruffled her hair hard enough that her head wobbled under his rough, calloused palm, “I’ll be back with your Ma’s sword before noon. Selort, look after her.”

“I’m not a _babysitter-_ ”

But Aza wasn’t listening. With one last smile her way, he turned away and strode out of the room, Tall man, Selort, spluttering indignantly at his retreating back.

It was a ten minutes later, when Selort calmed down enough to ask her if she was hungry (she was), and gave her some weird, hard bread thing that tasted like walnut, that another weird, long-haired man burst in into the room. He was breathless like he’d just been sprinting, taking several long minutes to suck in deep breaths before gasping, “ _Aza_!?”

“Already gone, sir,” Selort said sourly, “Went on a valiant quest to retrieve the mother’s stolen blade and, oh yes, _murder all the bandits_ in the process.”

Long-Haired Man let out a loud, very rude curse, and rushed away as fast as he came. 

Sameh looked at Selort, “Who was that?”

“A disaster,” Selort muttered, “A total disaster waiting to happen.”

 

* * *

 

Deixix tilted the sword until it caught the rising sun’s light.

It was an impressive piece of metallurgy, expertly made and well cared for. It was a bastard sword, a pale white colour, with an edge and point sharpened to perfection. It was clearly designed for powerful thrusts – something which Kizex quickly learned when that bitch got him in the thigh. Stupid idiot almost bled out while they struggled to subdue that fiery lioness. If it hadn’t been for Dofent catching her in the back with his arrow…

He admired the handguard for a moment, an extremely detailed lion’s head with yellow stones in place of its eyes, and pushed it back into its sheath. He claimed this as his spoil – everyone else were still squabbling over the remains of the cart. The bitch didn’t have much on her, and the brat had scampered off too quick for them to snatch her in hopes of selling her off to those weird freaks who lingered in the fringes of Gridania’s forests. The kid was probably wolf food by now.

He idly tossed some twigs onto their fire, watching the sparks fly. The dawn was easing into proper morning at this point, and Deixix knew they’d have to move soon. They forgot to move the cart and bodies off the main road, too eager to race off with their spoils, and no doubt Camp Dragonhead would’ve discovered it by their morning patrols or a passing, concerned traveller. They’d have to retreat further into the mountains, wait for their vigilance to die down before creeping back in. Their men were too stretched to maintain a persistent presence in the region.

Across from him, Kizex moaned in pain. His bandage over his thigh was stained with dark blood, and Deixix eyed him contemplatively. They wasted a potion on him, but it looked like the wound was too severe to heal quick enough. It’d be a shame to lose him, since he was usually a useful sword but… well, they couldn’t afford to drag around a wounded man, especially if they were going to have whole of Camp Dragonhead trying to crawl up their asses. Better to get rid of him.

But Deixix can do that later, before they departed.

He tossed a few more twigs onto the fire, considered if he had enough time to snatch an hour of sleep when he heard a _‘crunch_ ’ of snow and dead leaves behind him.

Deixix paused. They were in a tight woodblock, hidden from view and rarely visited. Dofent and Luzoux were off getting breakfast, leaving him and Kizex to guard the camp. It was too early for them to be returning. He slowly, casually, shifted his grip on his sword’s hilt. Kizex was oblivious, sprawled out on his bedroll, curled around his wounded leg with his eyes closed and face pale and clammy. Useless.

 _‘Crunch, crunch, crunch’_.

The footsteps drew closer, light-footed… but not trying to hide. The person was boldly approaching – the creak of leather, the quiet shift of chainmail and metal. Armour. A knight? No, they wouldn’t already been charging and yelling about Halone and honour and such shite. No…

Deixix waited, until the footsteps were close, and leapt to his feet, fluidly drawing the sword as he spun, wildly slashing-

And grunted when a dark, gloved hand grabbed the blade, halting its journey with an unsettling jolt.

Deixix stared, bewildered, as cold, yellow beast eyes looked up at him. A short Miqo’te stood before him, clutching the blade in his hand despite its edge biting deep into the leather of his gloves. Thin rivulets of red ran over the leather, soaking into the edge of his dark vambrace, but he didn’t seem to feel the pain at all. He tightened his grip over the blade, holding it firmly in place and – smiled.

“Ah, just the sword I was looking for,” his low, husky voice purred, his eyes narrowing with a cruel sort of pleasure, the sun catching on the hilt of the monstrously huge sword strapped to his back. Only one Miqo’te carried a blade like that, “Glad to see I struck gold with the first bandit I found.”

“T-The Wa… Warrior…” Deixix stuttered, too stunned to speak.

The Warrior of Light let go of the sword. Deixix rapidly backed away and yelped when his boot landed right into the fire. He skittered around it, holding his sword before him as he ignored the burning pain in his calf, looking down only brief enough to check he hadn’t caught fire. Of all the people to _find_ them! The Warrior of Light! Slayer of Nidhogg! He’d rather face the entire garrison of fucking Camp Dragonhead!

“I’m here to kill you,” the Warrior of Light said, flexing his bleeding hand with that odd, predatory smile, “So, you have two choices. You can surrender the sword to me, and I’ll kill you quick. _Or_ , you can struggle, and you’ll die… not so quick.”

“I-I choose not to die, thanks,” Deixix said a little hysterically, shaking like a leaf and feeling something wet run down the inside of his thigh. He ignored it, “We’re just- we’re desperate, we… we had no choice but to- to steal. Please, h-have merc-”

“Shut up,” The Warrior of Light commanded.

Deixix shut his mouth so quick he hurt his teeth.

“You killed an innocent woman and orphaned her child,” the Warrior of Light said. His tone was utterly devoid of all emotion, and so was his expression. His face was as cold and still as the statues of the Fury that loomed in Ishgard’s churches, the statue that presided over the courtroom. Deixix couldn’t breathe under the weight of that dismissive stare, like he was worth less than the worms that wriggled in the dirt, “Even worse – you didn’t even give the woman a clean death. You mutilated her and tortured her to death. Then you left her surviving child with nothing.”

The Warrior of Light tilted his head in a very animal-like manner. In the bright, morning light, his hair glittered gold, his eyes carrying a faint glint of crimson. It must- that must be a trick of the light, surely?

“I beg mercy,” Deixix whispered, his knees shaking as the Warrior of Light took a slow, decisive step forwards, “It- it was Kizek, sir- lord, uh, _master_. Kizek said, said to kill… he…”

“Master…” the Warrior of Light repeated, and Deixix opened his mouth to call him that again in hopes that would save him when the Miqo’te’s expression turned dark and terrible, “You _dare_ call me that?”

Deixix scrambled back – cried out when he tripped over Kizek’s curled up, shivering form. The sword went spinning out of his hand, landing amongst the fallen leaves and snow somewhere. He couldn’t move. He was paralysed with fear as the Warrior of Light loomed over them both, his hand clasped on the hilt of his monstrous blade, his eyes a blazing, gleaming red. Deixix felt as if the Fury Herself was glaring down at him and found him sorely wanting.

“Please…” Deixix whimpered, holding his arms up to hide from that scorching stare. Terror thrummed a steady beat inside of him. He could hear the crackle of fire, and it sounded like the welcoming flames of hell, “Mercy, I, I won’t steal again. I’ll repent. I-I’ll do anything… anything you want…”

“Anything?” The Fury purred, and the hiss of the blade unclicking from its sheathe sounded like the rearing of a snake ready to strike.

“Anything…!”

“Then perish.”

And the blade swung down on him and Kizek both, and that was that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes. i just used the obama meme in a serious way. no i don't regret it. 
> 
> that's also why i posted this chapter quick bc i was stupidly proud about it L O L but ye don't worry, bluebird is next! the chapter is slow coming out because it has action scenes and lots of them, which means i'm rewritting them ten million times before i'm content with what i wrote haha
> 
> but anyways this fic will show emmanellain a lot. see how he's getting on with camp dragonhead. aym probs won't turn up for several chapters yet... 
> 
> Please kudos/comment if you liked! <3 I've been slow in replying to comments again but thank you all who have so far! I greatly appreciate it!


	3. Chapter 3

“It looks like a _Behemoth’s_ been through here…”

Emmanellain grimaced at Rosoix’s whisper, keeping a tight rein on his fidgeting Chocobo. The smell of blood and emptied bowels were thick in the air, and flies were already beginning to gather over the wolf corpses littering the ground around the cart. They had been butchered, some looking like they _had_ been gored by a raging Behemoth, the blood long since congealed and blackened underneath the bright rays of the morning sun.

Strange that no predator had come to investigate – but Emmanellain was quickly learning this was the norm with Aza’s kills. Animals and monsters alike refused to touch the corpses until days had passed, like there was some ominous curse placed on them. Emmanellain refused to wonder why, because that way he could claim plausible deniability if the Halonic Inquisitors ever came investigating. It was the standard practice of all the knights on the frontier who regularly dealt with Aza, honestly.

Emmanellain dismounted from his Chocobo, knowing it would spook if he tried to urge it any closer, and gingerly stepped into the circle of carnage. He heard his knights quickly follow his lead.

Despite only having a thirty-minute headstart (for that was how long it took to gather his men and saddle up the Chocobos), there had been no sign of Aza on the main road. He knew for a fact that the Miqo’te didn’t have his Chocobo with him either, so unless he sprinted the moment he left Camp Dragonhead they should have overtaken him a few fulms ago. He surely had to return here to properly track the bandits…?

Breathing through his mouth, to try and fight off the queasy feeling in his belly from the smell, Emmanellain tiptoed over various pieces of… viscera, trying not to think about how messily Aza dealt his kills, and attempted to find some tracks. The snow was thin here, only in thick patches over a frozen dark ground, so there were no footsteps to follow, no clear sign of anyone’s comings and goings. Emmanellain huffed quietly.

“M’lord,” Mayix called suddenly. He was standing closer to the trees that crowded near the main road, pointing down at the floor. “A trail through the bushes. The twigs and like are stomped down by heavy boots.”

Emmanellain wandered over, and let out a small, triumphant ‘ _ah-hah!_ ’.

“Oh, excellent spot, Mayix,” Emmanellain said, clapping the older knight on the shoulder. The trees clustered together too tightly for their Chocobos, a thin, animal track weaving between the trees, interspersed with thick shrubs and bramble patches. “Hmm, we’ll have to leave the Chocobos behind.”

The gathered knights, only five of them, including himself, all looked at one another. Rosoix looked green about the gills, Mayix was grim-faced, Vonont blank and Feyix very determinedly picking at his gloves. Emmanellain heaved a sigh. Of course, no one wanted to stay with the massacred wolves…

“Vonont,” he said, ignoring how the knight grimaced at the sound of his name, “You secure our Chocobos and hurry along any travellers. Assure them that this is, uh, not a Behemoth kill site. Everyone else, with me.”

So, it was Emmanellain, Mayix, Rosoix and Feyix that trooped into the forests, leaving Vonont behind. The trees felt like they closed in the moment they stepped into its depths, and Emmanellain could see now how that little girl managed to hide from the bandits in here. There was something almost primordial and eerie about the place, and he nervously kept his hand on the hilt of his longsword as they followed the animal trail deeper and deeper into the woodblock. It winded and looped and double backed, becoming narrower and narrower until grasping brambles and branches pulled at their armour and hanging swords, until-

They stumbled out into a small clearing. The sharp smell of spilled blood lingered here too.

A fire crackled merrily in the centre, its light having been hidden by the thick ring of trees, and Aza was sitting on a log in front of it, his greatsword lying flat across his lap as he wiped its pale surface down with a brown-stained rag. Literally a few malms from him, two bodies lay sprawled practically on top of each other, very clearly dead by the, uh, split-open nature of their torsos.

“Hey,” Aza greeted, looking up from his sword. The fire cast strange shadows across his face, “About time you showed up.”

“How…” Emmanellain stared at the Miqo’te, wondering what kind of _reality-warping_ dark arts he performed to get here before them _on foot_ , “We were on Chocobo-back.”

“I flew,” Aza said, utterly straight-faced. He tossed down his rag, hefting his blade up one-handed in an impressive show of strength. He inspected it for a moment, then stood up and swung it over his shoulder until the magnetic sheath on his back locked it in place, “There’re a few more bandits, I think. Only got the sentry and their wounded.”

Emmanellain glanced at the dead pair again, noting that they were sprawled over a bedroll. He felt unsettled at the thought of murdering a defenceless man in his own bed, bandit or not, and judging by the quiet, unhappy muttering behind him, one of his men thought the same.

“You didn’t… think to detain them?” Emmanellain asked, trying to be firm but finding it difficult in the face of Aza’s uncaring stare. Aza wasn’t being deliberately intimidating, but there was always a sense of _threat_ when you stood so close to him, and even Emmanellain, who liked to think he’d developed some kind of immunity to those vibes Aza unintentionally gave off, became nervous around him from time to time, “Make them surrender?”

Aza looked confused, “They did surrender.”

There was a bit of an awkward pause at that.

“But, um, they’re dead,” Emmanellain said slowly.

“Yes,” Aza returned just as slowly, “I killed them.”

“But you just said they _surrendered_.”

“They did,” Aza was frowning now, giving Emmanellain a look like he was being very strange, “So I gave them a quick death instead of accidentally butchering them while chasing them about the clearing. Do you know how hard it is to cleanly kill someone when they’re running away from you? It’s awful.”

Emmanellain stared at him, his mouth dropping open in pure shock.

“Y-You…” he couldn’t speak for a moment, feeling paralysed from sheer _horror_. Aza, the Warrior of Light, just outright admitted killing unarmed men who had _surrendered_ – he didn’t even seem to realise there was anything _wrong_ about it! Emmanellain, who became very aware of such things after that _disaster_ in Falcon’s Nest, was just… he just couldn’t believe it. Oh, Gods, no wonder why the Lord Commander told him to never let Aza take up capture or kill quests on wanted criminals.

“What?” Aza said defensively, looking from Emmanellain to the rest of the knights. Every single one of them was staring at him with varying degrees of disapproval or scandal, “That’s how you deal with animals like these. You put them down.”

“Oh, Halone _help_ _me_ ,” Emmanellain groaned, burying his face in his hands, “I don’t even know where to _begin_ …”

“Ser Aza,” Mayix jumped in cautiously. Being a knight who knew Aza during Haurchefant’s days, he had more experience dealing with his shenanigans than everyone else present, “It’s considered… ill to kill a man who’s surrendered themselves to Ishgardian authority without even giving him some kind of trial for his crimes.”

Aza tilted his head with an almost child-like confusion, “But the punishment for murder is death,” he said, “So they’d be dead anyway. What’s a day or two’s difference?”

“ _Process_ ,” Emmanellain stressed, “There’s a process! Justice and- and whatnot. If we begin dispensing our own justice outside of that, it’s a slippery slope. A slope! People will lose trust in us if we just go about, cutting down people before even _investigating_ their guilt!” That was why the Temple Knights had been do distrusted during the Theocracy days! Were still distrusted in fact, even after the Lord Commander’s very public anti-corruption and purge campaign in the knights’ ranks!

“But they’re clearly bandits and one of them confessed to murder,” Aza said. His confusion was slowly giving way to frustration, “There’s no need to investigate.”

That wasn’t even the point, but Emmanellain felt that he’d have a better time knocking down a tree by banging his head against it than continuing this conversation. Aza clearly didn’t understand, and Emmanellain began to wonder if he _always_ did this, which he immediately _stopped_ wondering about because, again, plausible deniability. How had the Lord Commander not _had_ this conversation with Aza, though? Out of everyone, he would’ve assumed he of all people would be against such vigilante justice.

“I suppose it’s already done…” Emmanellain sighed, pressing a hand against his forehead, “Mayix, Rosoix, please collect the, uh, criminals’ remains. We’ll bring them back to Camp Dragonhead with us.”

“What about the rest of the bandits, m’lord?” Mayix asked.

“I think three of us should be able to deal with them,” Emmanellain said, gesturing at Feyix and Aza. Feyix looked very uncertain about this, whereas Aza, for some reason, began to look sulky. It was a weirdly childish expression on him, “If they _surrender_ , we’ll take them back _alive_ to be _tried_ for their crimes. _Alive_.”

“I get it,” Aza muttered.

“Then let’s get to it then,” Emmanellain said, finding Aza less threatening when he was pouting like a child, “Because of people who shall remain _nameless_ , I missed breakfast so I’m rather keen to get back for lunch.”

Aza rolled his eyes and turned away from him to prowl to the perimeter of the clearing and squat down over something. Emmanellain left him to it and turned to Feyix. He was the youngest knight – well, same age as Emmanellain, really, but young in that he had only recently passed his knight training. Out of all of them, he had the least experience working with Aza.

“Just stay out of his way when he starts swinging that blade of his,” Emmanellain whispered to him, “You’ll be fine.”

“If you say so, m’lord,” Feyix whispered back, glancing at where Mayix and Rosoix were trying to figure out the logistics of carrying back corpses near bisected without everything… falling out. Poor Feyix looked a bit queasy witnessing the messy aftermath. Emmanellain felt the same.

“It’ll be fine,” he repeated, determinedly ignoring that bit of macabre silliness, “Just, if he does anything weird, pretend it never happened.”

Feyix looked back at him in open concern.

“Anything weird,” Emmanellain said, staring into the middle distance as he tried not to think about the times he caught Aza arguing with imaginary people at Haurchefant’s grave, or ran into him in the middle of the night at Camp Dragonhead doing… odd things. Saying strange things. Emmanellain didn’t see anything though. Nope. Not a single thing, “That way, if the Inquisitors ask, you genuinely know nothing.”

Feyix just looked alarmed, but he’d come to understand eventually. It was just how things were done when you regularly worked with the Warrior of Light: you pretended not to see the broken beast underneath the glossy, heroic veneer.  

 

* * *

 

Sameh tentatively decided she liked Selort.

He was a very grumpy man who poked too hard, but he looked after her like Aza told him too. After she had the ‘walnut bread’, a treat he’d been saving for a while, Selort showed her to the bathroom where she realised she _really_ needed a pee and was… dirty. Mud and red and other stuff were smeared and rubbed into her skin, her clothes, her hair, her _fur…_ but when Selort said he’d try to find some clothes to replace her current ones, she grew upset at the thought because _Ma_ made these clothes. The thought of giving them away had almost been too much, even if filthy. It was dumb, she knew, but still she _cried_ at the thought and…

She thought Selort would get annoyed at her about it. He didn’t. He promised to clean and fix her – _Ma’s_ – clothes as well as he was able, though he made no promises about it. He said it with such seriousness though, that Sameh had a feeling he was going to try and try until he succeeded though. It made her feel wriggly warm inside. Selort was grumpy… but he really was kind underneath that.

That was half an hour ago. Now Sameh was sitting in a big stone tub filled with hot water, watching swirls of brown taint the water. Her palms were pink and scraped, but the worst of it had scabbed over now. She stared at those scraped palms, remembered how the knife felt between them, and wondered if things might’ve turned out differently if she had that when the bad men came.

Would it have? Aza said she was weak on her own… she probably would’ve- gone away with Ma, too.

Her stomach hurt when she thought of things like that. A part of her thought going with Ma would be nice, but she was old enough to know what ‘ _dead_ ’ meant. She helped Ma tend to game kills enough to know what it meant. Dead was dead. You stopped… you stopped everything and your soul went far, far away to another place . You couldn’t come back no matter what to a place no one knew. That was scary to think about.

But if it was with Ma, would it be scary?

Something in her whispered ‘ _yes_ ’.

Things were scary now, though. She was trying not to think about ‘after’, but ‘after’ was coming soon. When Aza came back with Ma’s sword, and she sent Ma away on the wind, what was she meant to do? When they lived in Ul’dah for a while, Sameh saw all the kids who lived near the market. They didn’t have homes or family, because they got chased away from it all, and she remembered how hollow they’d looked, how hungry and frightening they’d been. Sameh didn’t know how… Ma hadn’t taught her how to hunt yet. She didn’t know how to live by herself yet.

She pushed those thoughts aside stubbornly. Maybe things will be different here. Maybe… Ma said Ishgard was the ‘New Opportunity’ for travellers. There’re lots of jobs going and stuff, because it was trying to become better after being alone for so long. If there’re lots of jobs going, then maybe there was something a ten-year-old Miqo’te girl could do. She could learn quick. She could learn to live by herself! She’d be ever so good and not complain and be grown up. She’ll pay for food instead of hunting or learn by herself! She’ll live. She’ll _make_ herself live!

Sameh clung to that desperate stubbornness, sinking deeper into the hot water until she was up to her nose, blowing bubbles. Maybe she could ask Aza if he could walk her to Ishgard, just… just because she didn’t know the way. She still didn’t know what he wanted from her, because he was a Man and all Men wanted something, Ma said, but she’d give it to him if it meant he’d help her some more.

She ignored the tears that rolled down her cheeks, mingling with the hot water, and blew bubbles until her lungs burned and her head felt light. It was harder to think like that, and that suited Sameh just fine.

A knock on the bathroom door drew her attention, and she reluctantly straightened up, taking a few wobbly, deep breaths, “Y-Yeah?”

“Little miss,” Selort’s voice, muffled, spoke through the door, “Your clothes have been tended to, though they’re now drying over the fire and will be for some time. I have a gown you can wear until then. Are you finished?”

Sameh eyed the hot water that was now a dirty, pale brown.

“…yeah,” she said, “I’m finished.”

“Pardon me for a moment, then.”

Sameh ducked down again when the door opened a crack. A hand carrying a neatly folded, pale white gown reached in and carefully – blindly – deposited it on the floor. Selort’s hand retreated and the door closed with a soft snap.

“Whenever you’re ready, Little Miss.”

Sameh rubbed at her face, taking another deep breath. Okay. Next bit. Get dressed.

Ma always said if you were stuck on something, or struggled with something, you did it in tiny little bits. So, that’s what Sameh was going to do. She was going to keep going at tiny little bits and not think about the future without Ma too much. Because that hurt too much. So she was going to focus on: getting dressed.

Then. Then she’d focus on what next.

With that in mind, Sameh climbed out of the hot bath and into the sharp, chilly air of the bathroom, prepared to face the rest of her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Dark Knight justice collides with legal justice, I guess. 
> 
> I like to think that Aymeric most likely overhauled the entirety of the Temple Knights - just did a massive anti-corruption drive and a purge of the ranks. He wasn't able to get everything, but he got enough and is aggressively restructuring the justice system and has begun a new discourse in parliament on whether or not Trial By Combat is a legitimate way to decide someone's innocence. He kind of accidentally opened a can of worms when he off-handedly asked if it was a bit dated at this point and has regretted it deeply ever since. 
> 
> (Also Aza keeps getting arrested for misdemeanours in Ishgard and slithering out of a few nights in jail by demanding trial by combat and winning every time to the point where the knights just take him straight to the court room and the judge tells him to get the fuck out before he even has to do anything. Aymeric at this point is kind of getting tired of dealing with the reports of how Aza got arrested for stupid shit like peeing in the fountain when drunk or releasing the Chocobos from the Holy Stables (also when drunk) but has been deemed innocent of all wrongdoing by the Fury so he keeps getting away with it.
> 
> "How does the Fury keep acquitting such a man?"  
> "At this point I think he is the Fury acquitting himself."
> 
> Unsurprisingly those all for abolishing the trial by combat use Aza as an example as to why it needs to go NOW).
> 
> ANYWAY. Yeah. QUESTION TIME!!!
> 
> Out of curiosity, who do you guys want to help Aza foster Sameh? Bc Aym and Aza will be too busy to do it all the time, so... Aza's insane FC or the Scions? And if so, which characters to feature the most specifically? I'm curious to see who you guys want bc i'm flipflopping for either at this point!
> 
> Please kudos/comment if you enjoyed!
> 
> (Also, finally, I should probs do this...
> 
> Aza's theme: [Blazblue's Stand Unrivalled](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HZBw-9VFIjg)  
> Aza's theme when fucking full Dark Artsing it up: [Blazblue's Must Die](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Af6JRDhNBiw)


	4. Chapter 4

It was, in the end, depressingly easy to catch the remaining bandits.

Emmanellain had been prepared to sweep through this tightly packed, eerie woods for the next few hours, but Aza had advised a patient route. He rightly pointed out that it was difficult to discern who exactly was in the camp until you were in the clearing, so tightly packed were the trees and so thick the brambles. So, the bandits, who were no doubt off getting breakfast, would stumble right into their arms with minimal effort from themselves. Emmanellain found himself surprised that Aza would be possessed of such patient cunning – he half expected the man to go charging off into the forest, cutting down anything in his way, and when he stupidly asked about it;

_“A good predator is patient. Our prey’ll come to us eventually.”_

Yeah, Emmanellain didn’t know why he was surprised at the odd things Aza said anymore.

So here they were. Mayix and Rosoix had already carted the bodies off to Vonont – they ended up having to use the bandits’ bedrolls as makeshift stretchers, and he didn’t envy them the bumpy, difficult journey through the woods back to Vonont. Emmanellain sat, tense and rigid, his sword naked across his lap, opposite Aza in front of the fire. Kiyex stood still as a statue beside him, his eyes nervously darting from tree to tree, and Aza…

Aza had a new blade in hand now. It sat prettily across his lap, and he was inspecting it thoroughly – checking the hilt, the edge, the point, the blade… it was a bastard sword, too skinny and light for Aza’s method of fighting, but Emmanellain didn’t ask about it. He watched him slowly, methodically, wipe and oil the blade, completely at ease, as if he weren’t waiting to ambush an unknown number of bandits.

In fact, one could say he looked very pleased. There was a faint, handsome smile on his lips, his tail idly flicking from side to side and kicking up a few brushes of powdery snow and dirt. The tail’s tip was a little dirty and matted, and Emmanellain wondered if it was troublesome, to have such long fur on such an equally long tail. Or perhaps Aza didn’t care. He was still caked in the blood from the morning, having passed on a bath to charge straight back out here. There was a faint, thick smell of blood, oil and sweat that came from Aza, something that the Warrior of Light never fully managed to get rid of.

Warrior of Light… Emmanellin lowered his gaze to the fire, his mouth twisting wryly. That was what the rest of Eorzea called him, but Aza had another name within Ishgard: Fury’s Hound. The man was too… _something_ to be gifted the noble title of Warrior of Light. He was vindication incarnate, a man who was ready to cut down those who did wrong and damn their grovelling of forgiveness. No doubt, he was a _good_ man, but… there was something cruel in him too. Something had made him hard and cold inside, even if flashes of warmth showed itself from time to time, a shadow of a kind, gentle man he could’ve been.

Emmanellain supposed it was best they had this version, though. The times were too hectic and unpredictable to have such a kind soul leading the charge against, well, _everything_ out to kill them. If there was anything Aza didn’t lack, it was decisiveness and grim determination to defend what he perceived as his own.

Aza stopped wiping down his sword, one of his ears flicking upright, slightly tilted to the side. Emmanellain watched him warily.

“Hm… two,” Aza murmured, turning his head towards the west side of camp. It was opposite to the animal track that they entered from, so Emmanellain could relax in worrying whether they ran into Mayix and Rosoix with their dead companions. He tightened his sweaty grip on the hilt of his blade – battle still made his knees quiver and his stomach churn, but those nerves would very quickly vanish the moment they were in the thick of it. He took in a slow, deep breath.

Voices, muffled and distant, floated up – they sounded like they were arguing.

“…n’t believe we just abandoned the brat like that. I mean, you hear what the Tree-Ghosts were offering? More than the worthless shit we grabbed from that cart.”

“Oh, psh, ‘Tree-Ghosts’ can lick my arsehole. I’m many things, but I ain’t dealing with _people cargo_. That’s a whole new level that Halone Herself will damn me for.”

“You’re already damned for being a thieving scumbag,” a burst of laughter, “What’s selling a cat to them gonna do? They enjoy that kind of stuff anyway. You know what they say about them? Miqo’te?”

“No, what?”

“They line Ul’dah’s streets, bent over and skirts up, waiting for anyone with a _coin_ to fuck them. They dance from one bed to the next, always thirsty for more c- uh.”

The bandits at this point had stepped full into the clearing and realised that their companions were no longer there. Emmanellain, appalled at their conversation, was briefly struck mute, though his gaze unwillingly drifted to Aza. Everyone in Ishgard knew about the unflattering stereotypes of Miqo’te, how they were loose and frisky and willing to sleep with anything that had a pulse, but no one dared utter them within Aza’s hearing distance. He would have thought he’d laugh it off but-

Aza’s expression was utterly frigid to the point where it felt as if the ambient temperature around him _dropped_ , his eyes narrowed into an ugly, dark glower. That was _rage_ Emmanellain was seeing and it was, quite frankly, the most terrifying thing he ever had to behold.

“…shit,” the bandit that had just been talking squeaked, dropping the fat pheasant he had in hand to the floor. He was a skinny man, long-faced and as pale as curdled milk – though, that might just be from the fear of being face to face with a pair of knights and an openly seething Aza.

“Oh,” the other bandit breathed, shivering from head to toe. This one was just as skinny, though with a soft jaw and enough puppy-fat that gave him the impression of just recent adulthood. Unlike his companion, he didn’t drop his pheasant – he tightened his grip around its neck, as if thinking of using it was a shield. There was a short sword dangling at his hip, and the other one had a bow but… other than that, they were lightly armed and armoured. They would die in a dedicated skirmish against a pair of Ishgardian knights and they clearly knew it.

Emmanellain stood up, clutching his blade tight and tried to seem as unruffled and brave as possible whilst ignoring the palpable _menace_ radiating from Aza, “I am Emmanellain de Fortemps of Camp Dragonhead. By the authority given to me by the Ishgardian Republic, you are under arrest for murder and petty banditry. Surrender, and you’ll be trialled under the eyes of the Fury. Resist, and you’ll be cut down.”

The one still holding the pheasant slowly raised his hands in surrender, but the other looked from Emmanellain to Aza, a wild look in his eyes. Emmanellain prayed he wouldn’t do anything stupid. Don’t do anything stupid. _Don’t_.

The man did something stupid.

“Like hell I’ll just walk to my death!” he snapped, unslinging his bow with alarming swiftness – Emmanellain shouted, already starting forwards, the other bandit yelling at him ‘ _no, stop_!’, but they were too far, the bandit already pulling the bow taught, aimed at _him_ , oh this’ll _hurt_ -

-then Aza crossed the distance in a near _blink_ , his sword sweeping a perfect arc and cutting the man’s draw-arm off at the shoulder. The bow clattered to the floor, the bandit _screamed_ in horrified agony, tumbling to the floor scrabbling at his stump of an arm, and Aza turned to the baby-faced bandit with a terrifyingly blank, empty expression, his sword lifting as if to swing again.

“ _Aza_!” Emmanellain shouted, thankfully reaching him before he could do anything else. Aza’s gaze flickered to him, and Gods, he was _terrifying_. He was almost half Emmanellain’s size but the sheer _threat_ that oozed off him at that moment felt like he had a Behemoth ilms from his face, fangs bared. Ignoring the quivering of his knees, the way his heart felt like it was crawling in his throat, he held an arm out – between Aza and the cowering, intact bandit. The other one had descended into pitiful whimpering, curled up on the floor.

“Don’t,” Emmanellain said, his voice wobbling a little, “Don’t, he’s surrendered and unarmed. _Don’t_.”

Aza looked at him for a very long moment without a hint of recognition, crimson glittering in his eyes.

“Put the sword d-down, Aza,” Emmanellain said. His voice cracked halfway through, destroying whatever attempt at firmness he tried. Gods, that stare was just cutting straight through him, “N-No one is threatening us now. Put it… put it away.”

Something flickered in those dead eyes and Aza gave himself a little shake. He straightened out of his threatening stance, the sword lowering until the tip buried into the red-stained snow. There was a faint crunch of frozen grass and snow as Feyix very cautiously sidled up to them, his own blade clasped firmly in his hand as he stared in open wariness at Aza. Emmanellain wasn’t sure if he had been ready to defend him if Aza… tried anything, but he suddenly felt like all these swords being brandished about were making the situation unnecessarily volatile.

So, he sheathed his, taking a deep breath and turning away from the silent Aza to the gaping bandit, ignoring the itching between his shoulder blades as he did so, “You will comply with everything we say, understood?”

The bandit nodded his head so vigorously it looked like it was going to fly off, “Y-Yes, m’lord. I’ll, I’ll do whatever you want. Anything.”

Aza made a short, low noise, almost like a snort, but when Emmanellain turned back to him, he was peering down at the unfortunate, one-armed bandit at his feet. He was alive, though drifting deeper into shock. The snow around his stump of an arm was stained dark red, steam rising in thin wisps.

“What should we do about him, m’lord?” Feyix whispered, his voice hushed like he was worried of spooking Aza into swinging his blade about again. Emmanellain was just still in shock at how fast Aza had moved. He cleared that clearing in a single _leap_. What the fuck was he, seriously.  

“We can leave him,” Aza said idly and prodded the man with the tip of his blade. There was no reaction, “Or I can put him out of his misery, even if he doesn’t deserve it. One smooth chop, done, dead.”

Emmanellain felt a bit at loss. The bandit was half-dead already, he realised. The amount of blood lost… nothing short of a Chirugeon on hand would save him now, something they lacked out here in the woods. They could waste a potion to keep him alive, but, Aza was right earlier. The punishment for murder was death, so he’d die either way. It was probably kinder to put him out of his misery now. But there was a bitter taste in his mouth at the thought of killing him while he was splayed out in the snow like that, wounded and defenceless.

What would Haurchefant do?

“…Feyix,” Emmanellain said after a heavy pause, “Give him a potion. He may live long enough for us to take him to Camp Dragonhead to be tried for his crimes.”

Feyix hesitated, but he ultimately obeyed, sheathing his sword and skirting around Aza to administer first aid to the bandit.

Aza was looking at him.

“I won’t murder a helpless, unarmed man,” Emmanellain told him, though he did feel doubt curdle in his stomach. He didn’t know if this was right, if this was being uselessly cruel or naïve but… he felt like this was what he should do, “No matter how vile his crimes. If he’s to die, he’ll die _properly_.”

 “All men die the same, whether it’s by my sword or an executioner’s,” Aza said, but he sheathed his blade. His gaze slid to the other bandit, who quailed under the weight of his stare – before turning away, “Whatever. It might be best for Sameh to witness this animal’s final moments herself, anyways. Vindication is its own closure.”

With that he strode back to the campfire, where the bastard sword from earlier lay next to the log.

Emmanellain let out a shaky, relieved breath and turned back to the more compliant, all-limbs-intact bandit. He was still holding the pheasant. Well, least he knew what was for lunch.

“Did the Fury Herself spit him out?” the bandit asked tremulously, staring after Aza with naked fear in his eyes.

“I’m beginning to believe so,” Emmanellain muttered, “Gods, how did Haurchefant deal with this?”

 

* * *

  


The sun was beaming high in the sky when Aza came back.

Sameh had whiled that time away by anxiously lingering by the window of her room. It smelled faintly of alcohol and weird things, with a cot that had white sheets with very faint, suspicious brown stains. Sameh tried not to think about it, tried not to listen to the man in the next room over, moaning in pain, tried not to pay notice to the lingering smell of sickness that clung to the building, and stared out the window. The light hurt her eyes, and her head pounded with exhaustion, but she waited.

She waited until the sun was high and Aza came back – but not alone.

The weird, long-haired man from before was with him. They were both frowning and looked like they’d been arguing, but the moment Aza stepped into the small room his scary frown instantly brightened into a pretty smile. She thought he looked a lot less scary when he smiled.

“Hello, Sameh,” Aza said, talking over what Long-Haired Man was beginning to say, “I brought something for you.”

Sameh scooted from the window of the room she’d been sitting at. The knife Aza gave her was clasped tight in her hand – she didn’t feel safe without it nearby anymore – and she stood just out of arm’s reach. Aza had his hands behind his back.

“Aza,” Long-Haired Man said stiffly.

“Ta-da,” Aza said, and from behind his back he presented-

“Ma’s sword…” Sameh whispered, a sharp ache stabbing her right in the belly at the sight of it. It was shiny and bright and _looked exactly as before_. Ma always said that Sameh would have it when she was older – a new tradition for a new tribe of two, Ma would say, laughing, and Sameh could feel her bottom lip start to tremble because she was a new tribe of _one_ now, but she swallowed it down, refusing to cry.

“We found the bad men,” Aza murmured, politely ignoring her sniffles as he held the blade out, flat against his open palms, “And I took this off them. We also took back the other things they stole, though some of it was irreparably ruined…”

“We’ll replace what we can,” Long-Haired Man cut in, looking nervous. He didn’t seem like he knew what to do in the face of Sameh’s tears, “We’ll help.”

“Mm,” Aza’s eyes narrowed slightly, and it was like before, on the road, where the Shadows felt like they were creeping in. He was still pretty, but the soft kindness in his face sharpened into something… darker, “We brought some of the bad men back with us.”

Sameh almost choked, her heart squeezing tight with fear.

“They’re our prisoners, as criminals,” Aza said, watching her intently, “They’re locked away and can’t hurt you. After a farce of a trial, where we all know they’ll be found guilty, they’ll be execut-”

“Aza,” Long-Haired Man hissed, “She’s _a child_.”

“She deserves to know,” Aza said, not looking away from her, “Do you want to watch them die, Sameh? If you want, they can suffer a bit for hurting you. Or they can die quick. What do you want?”

Sameh’s happiness from Ma’s sword began to fade. She didn’t want to see the bad men at all, and to watch them… die, was. She remembered Ma, and Nibbles, all lying cold and still on the floor. She thought of the wolves with the pink-blue snakes tumbling out of their bellies. She felt ill.

“I don’t…” Sameh licked her dry lips, Aza’s stare like a physical, burning weight on her. He felt expectant, and a part of her didn’t want to disappoint, but… she really didn’t want to see. She didn’t want to see dead men, even dead bad men, but at the same time she did. They, they hurt Ma and, and she won’t be able to see her or Nibbles anymore. She wanted – she didn’t know. It was like a hot coal in her belly, and it sizzled so much it hurt at the thought of them, but she didn’t know what it meant. She didn’t want to think about it anymore. She just didn’t…  

“I don’t care,” she finally said, gripping the knife so tight it hurt her scraped palm, “I don’t care about them anymore. I don’t- I don’t want to see them.”  

Aza studied her for a long moment, his expression not giving his thoughts away.

“Okay,” he eventually said, and he turned Ma’s sword in his hands, offering the hilt out to her, “This is yours. You can keep it, toss it on your Ma’s pyre, whatever. May want to learn how to use it, though. A malm of steel will keep most bad men away.”

“But… not those bad men…” Sameh said miserably, staring at Ma’s sword. She reached out, her hand looking tiny against the leather wrapped hilt, and she felt weird, knowing that Ma had this last. Ma used this to protect herself, to protect her. If she thought hard enough, she could almost feel the lingering warmth of Ma’s hand on the hilt… it was a strange, comforting feeling.

When Aza pulled his hands from supporting the blade though, she squeaked when the sudden weight almost pulled the weapon out of her grip.

“Whoa!” Aza quickly caught the tip before she dropped it, “Careful!”

“Gods, Aza,” Long-Haired man groaned theatrically, covering his eyes with his hand, “She’s going to chop her foot off.”

“She is not, shut up,” Aza huffed, flicking his tail at him, but he didn’t let go of the sword, “Though, maybe it’s a bit heavy for her right now… hey, Sameh, I have an idea. Let me have this for a moment?”

Sameh tightened her grip on Ma’s sword, hesitant… but eventually let go. He could take it from her whenever he wanted anyways, being bigger and stronger, she thought with an odd, burning feeling in her throat, “Okay.”

Aza took the sword and promptly left the room. It was just her and weird Long-Haired Man now. They both stared at each other for a bit.

“…I’m Emmanellain de Fortemps,” Long-Haired Man finally said a bit awkwardly, “This is my, er, camp. I hope everyone’s been kind to you?”

“Yes, Mister For-tom-pth,” Sameh tried, stumbling over the weird name, and, because Ma didn’t raise an ungrateful girl, added, “Thank you.”

“You can call me Emmanellain,” Long-Haired Man said, making a funny face at her no doubt horrendous pronunciation, “Or, uh, Emman, if that’s easier.”

“Emma?” Sameh asked hopefully.

“Em- sure,” Emma sighed heavily. He looked tired, and he ran his hair through his lanky hair, ruffling it, “Has Selort fed you?”

“Mm,” Sameh nodded.

“And you’re… not hurt?”

“I’m okay.”

“Good, good,” Emma said.

Awkward silence loomed again.

Emma was clearly thinking on what to say. Sameh opened her mouth to ask how he knew Aza, when the other Miqo’te finally returned. Ma’s sword was encased in a silver sheath now, with a big leather strap from one end to the other.

“Here we are,” Aza said, “Come here, Sameh, let’s see how this fits.”

Nervously, Sameh edged closer to Aza. He looked amused at how she adjusted her grip on the knife, approving almost, and simply leaned over, sliding the leather strap over her so Ma’s sword rested against her back like it was a backpack, the leather strap sloping from one shoulder to her opposite hip. It was kind of heavy, but… comfortable. It felt right.

“Like a glove,” Aza purred, making a low, churring noise. It was a soothing sound, “Is that comfortable for you, Sameh?”

“Mmhm,” Sameh wriggled in place. The sword swayed slightly, but it stayed in place and didn’t swing around too much, “It’s comfy.”

“Good,” Aza straightened up, and planted his hand on top of her head, ruffling her hair and rubbing her behind the ears so hard she felt her head wobble from side to side, “It’s like you have a piece of Ma with you, right?”

“Mm…”

“Speaking of,” Emma cut in hesitantly, “The… mother’s arrangements…?”

“Cremation,” Aza said, lifting his hand from Sameh’s head. Her hair felt cold from the loss of its assuring weight, “When do you think…?”

“Well, I can rouse the local priest, I suppose…” Emma mumbled, “Tomorrow morning?”

“Sounds good.”

“And after?”

“After?”

Sameh frowned, feeling like they were talking over her when she was _right here_. She said nothing, though, because they were being so terribly kind, and, she didn’t know what they were talking about either. She gripped the leather strap cutting over her chest, taking comfort from the weight of Ma’s sword. A piece of Ma… yeah. This was her.

“Well, what are you going to do with her?” Emma asked, “She… you’re not leaving her here, are you?”

Aza paused, looking a bit confused, “Where else would I leave her?”

“We don’t- we don’t keep orphans here. They get sent to Ishgard and-”

“End up in the Brume?” Aza made a scoffing noise, “I’m not subjecting her to _that_. May as well kill her now and be done with it.”

“Then you need to take her elsewhere,” Emma said, sounding stressed, “Mor Dhona? I’m sure Revenant’s Toll has-”

“I’m going to Ishgard,” Sameh said.

The two adults stopped and stared at her.

“…what?” Emma said blankly.

“I’m going to Ishgard,” Sameh said, this time a bit meeker underneath their undivided attention, “Um, Ma said… said that, that there’re lots of jobs and, and um, I can, I can find work there, if there’s loads! I’ll work ever so hard, and I’ll pay you all back for, for helping me, and, and Selort’s walnut bread and, and finding Ma’s sword. I’m ten, I’m practically grown up, so I can work!”

Emma’s mouth opened and closed like a fish’s. Aza’s face was blank.

“Ten is not grown up,” Aza finally said, his voice very quiet, “It’s nowhere near that.”

“But I have to be grown up!” Sameh protested, “Only grown ups can work and- and get money and stuff. I need to… to work to live, um… and…”

“What about Ishgard’s Orphan programme?” Emma said uncertainly, glancing at Aza, “Join the Temple Knight’s recruitment?”

“They don’t accept non-Ishgardians yet. Aymeric’s still fighting it,” Aza said absently, staring very intently at Sameh, “But… okay. I’ll take you to Ishgard.”

Sameh lifted her head, “You will?”

Emma blinked, “You will?”

“Yeah,” Aza was smiling, but there was something unhappy about it, “But it’s going to shatter your hopes, just so you know. It’s cold, dirty, and _human_ , and Miqo’te aren’t viewed kindly there.”

Sameh clenched her jaw stubbornly. She had nowhere else to go, so she’d have to make cold, dirty, human Ishgard work, “Ma said- said that, determination and grit goes a long way to achieving happiness, no matter how smelly the place you’re at.”

“Hmm,” was all Aza said to that.

“I think,” Emma cut in suddenly, “that it’s a good idea. To show her Ishgard, at least. Perhaps the Lord Commander would have an idea what to do, elbow deep as he is in various… social projects. You could have Father look after her too while you plan. He’s been… lonely, recently.”

Aza looked briefly pained, like he had a stomach-ache, but his expression went blank again before Sameh could ask him what was wrong, “Lord Edmont… yeah, I guess that should be fine. Will he be fine with it?”

“I will write you a letter to present to him. He’ll look after her.”  

Aza said nothing for a long moment, staring into space, before he turned to her, “Then we have a plan. We’ll be sending your Ma off tomorrow and then we’ll travel to Ishgard together. You happy with that?”

She would be happy if she went to Ishgard with her Ma and Nibbles but saying that would be ungrateful. So, she forced a smile that kind of hurt, held her knife tight in one hand, the leather strap holding Ma’s sword with the other, and lied, “Yup! I’m happy!”

Aza smiled at her, but it was crooked, and his eyes were too knowing. He knew she lied.

But he said nothing. He just patted her head and gave her a too-hard rub behind the ears, making her duck low enough so her hair hid the tears in her eyes. 

 

* * *

  


Sameh tried to sleep not too long after that.

She curled herself around Ma’s sword, holding it tight so the hard, uncomfortable edges of its sheath dug into her chest and belly, its metal surface unpleasantly cold from the chill that just _clung_ to everything here. But it was all she had left of Ma anymore, outside of the clothes she made for her, so she hugged it and pretended and it hurt in a way that didn’t but did.

It meant she didn’t sleep, though.

She kind of dozed… she’d drift off, and then she could smell that horrible smell, the wolves’ blue-pink belly snakes, Ma’s face when she told her to run, those skinny, tall men leaping out of the woods, Nibbles terrified squawking – then pain when the arrow lodged in and- and- and-

The memories of it kept tumbling over and over in her brain every time she drifted. She’d jerk awake, cling to Ma’s sword, try to choke down the tears, and tried again. It didn’t work.

By this point the sun started to set. It felt a bit early, but Ishgard got dark quick. That’s what Ma said when they left Gridania behind, just before-

She cut that thought off. Her stomach gurgled in hunger, but she ignored it. Selort knocked three times before, but she pretended to be asleep each time, so she wasn’t fed, and her head pounded a little from lack of water, but she ignored it. From the cot, she could see the moon slowly glowing brighter in the sky. Full.

The entire building was quiet. Even Moaning Man was silent. She felt utterly alone.

Was she alone? The thought filled her with a cold kind of fear, and it was that that finally prompted her to leave the cot. She wobbled a bit when her bare feet hit the cold stones, her mouth unpleasantly dry and her stomach cramping from hunger, but she quietly moved to the door, opened it, and slipped into the dark corridor.

Everything was grey and dull-looking, but she could see where Ma couldn’t. She walked to where Moaning Man lived, the room next door, and listened outside of it, her ear pressed against the thin wood. Nothing. Not even breathing.

She back away from the door, feeling disturbed, and quickly moved further down the corridor. She didn’t know where anything was – she barely paid attention to where the bathroom was, and everything else was… a blur. Doors lined each side of the corridor, cold, empty braziers between each one – the air was chilly with a sharp edge of frost to it, and Sameh wondered how people could even stand to live here. It was so cold and lonesome and dark.

Aza said Ishgard was like that. It might’ve been tolerable with Ma, but…

A glimmer of light drew her attention and she paused. It was at the very end of the corridor – a big door, with a thin glow peeking at the bottom of it, flickering. Firelight? She crept closer, holding Ma’s sword tight to her, her breath misting the shiny metal of the sheath. It was cold, but she imagined Ma’s hand clasped over the hilt, remembered her holding it out to her before and saying ‘this can be your come of age present’ and it filled her with a warmth that helped her finish her journey. She stopped by the door.

It was slightly ajar. There was a weird noise coming from beyond it. A low, hissing ‘ _skrriiiitch’_ noise.

Sameh nudged the door open and peeked in.

It was a big room – different from Sameh’s. It had a proper bed, with a large window where the moon hung fat and bright, and a big fireplace that crackled merrily. There was an armchair pulled very close to the fire, almost into the hearth itself, and Aza sat there, still in his dark breastplate, with that big sword across his lap and a weird stone in hand. He dragged it over the edge, and it made that low hissing noise.

_Skrriiiiitch_.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Aza asked abruptly, not looking up from his sword.

Sameh startled so badly she headbutted the door, “Ow!”

Aza made a huffing noise, like almost-laughter, and finally looked up at her. The fire cast weird shadows over his face, “You can come in. Stop lingering by the door like a creep.”

Sameh felt herself blush in embarrassment, but she did as she was told. She crept in, light-footed, and closed the door behind her. The change was immediate – the room was _warm_ , pleasantly so, and she found herself relaxing from her shivering huddle over her Ma’s sword.

“Um, sorry…” she began nervously.

Aza waved her off, “It’s fine. It’s been… a long day for you.”

He pulled that stone over his blade again.

_Skrriiiitch_.

Sameh’s ear twitched, the noise bordering on painful.

Aza didn’t try to make small talk. He set the stone down on the squat table next to his armchair and studied his blade for a moment. It looked pretty, underneath the flickering glow of the firelight. It had a large Behemoth etched into the blade, its fangs bared and its horns making up part of the hilt, its outstretched claws reaching down its length. Sameh stared at it for a bit.

“What…” she began, taking courage to ask a question that had bothered her the moment he had protected her behind that great slab of steel, “What do you want, um, mister?”

Aza looked up at her, his eyes reflecting the firelight.

“Want?” he asked after a pause.

“Ma…” Sameh swallowed, that sharp jab in her belly always taking her off guard whenever she thought of her, “Ma always said Men don’t help people unless they want something.”

Aza let out a low, husky sounding laugh, “Your Ma’s not wrong.”

Sameh weirdly felt nervous at that, and she waited. But Aza just turned back to his blade, testing the edge of it with this thumb. There was a thin, red line over his palm, scabbed over but sore looking. She wondered where it came from.

“You haven’t eaten all day, have you?” he asked suddenly, making her jump.

“Um, I… this morning…”

Aza set his blade aside, propping it up against the fireplace. He pushed himself to his feet, and his knees audibly clicked, a low, soft grunt of pain escaping him. She watched as he moved with a stiffness that belied his youthful looks, his left leg carrying a slight limp like the joints were all locked up from the hip down.

“Not good enough,” Aza said firmly, ushering her out of the door of his room. She reluctantly obeyed, shivering as they stepped back out into the chilly corridor, “C’mon, we can raid Selort’s pantry.”

“Isn’t that rude?” Sameh whispered, clutching Ma’s sword tight. She didn’t want to be rude to Selort, who had been so kind to her despite his grumpiness.

“It’ll be fine,” Aza said carelessly, “You have another long day tomorrow, so you need to eat. I don’t care if I have to force it down your throat, understand?”

Sameh meekly nodded when his golden eyes flashed down at her. She had no doubt he’d make good on his threat, and she wasn’t sure what to make of it. Sometimes she thought him kind, but then he’d say scary, sometimes borderline mean things. Was he just awkward? Sameh didn’t know, but she tentatively trusted him…

He had plenty of chances to kill her, or rob her, or abandon her, and he didn’t. Ma said all Men wanted something, but she couldn’t see what he _could_ want. She had nothing. What she did have, he could’ve easily taken, or he gave back to her himself. He was… kind, in a blunt, thorny kind of way. Maybe he was just a nice adventurer, just all smudged around the edges.  

He was still scary though.

Kind, but scary.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm gonna go the Edmont route, with Aymeric kind of /facehands on the sidelines, and pull in some past haurchefant/aza stuff in ; ) Then expand to the FC, maaaybe Estinien and eventually pull in the Scions and F'lhaminn. This is gonna be a fic where Aza is like "oh i can't just abandon this kid, i better find somewhere to put her- oh shit, ive pretty much adopted her haven't i????"
> 
> Also, as you may have already noticed, this fic will try to stay away from Aza's POV. There'll be a few times, but most of this fic is looking at Aza from outside POV, and how Warrior of Light doesn't necessarily mean someone who fits the expected, cliche mould of noble and chivalrous guy with a perfect moral compass, etc, etc. Aza tries to be a good man, struggles at it, but tries (and fucks up occasionally, but hey, doesn't everyone?)
> 
> Please kudos/comment if you enjoyed! Also Bluebird chapter is still in the works...!! I haven't abandoned it! (or any of my multichaptered fics really...)


	5. Chapter 5

It snowed, when they burned Ma.

The morning had been frozen and blustery, fat flakes of snow coming down so hard it stung Sameh’s cheeks. She didn’t complain, though. She quietly followed in Aza’s footsteps, her stomach feeling like she’d eaten worms instead of bread for breakfast. She barely felt the cold. Aza had dropped a plush, warm coat over her head that was a little too big on her before they left Selort’s, and she wore it over the clothes Ma stitched for her. It blocked the cutting wind, and had a furry collar that she could hide the bottom of her face in. She kept biting her lip so hard she tasted copper.

The Moaning Man that slept in the room next to her died in the night, she was told. Sickness, Selort said, and he was being burned too alongside Ma. Sameh didn’t really care about Moaning Man, but she kept that to herself when they met with the priest outside of Camp Dragonhead’s gates. There was a thin, pale woman there too, her eyes red-rimmed and her dark hair tied into a half-hearted bun. There were wisps of hair everywhere.

There were a group of men too. Grim-faced man that frightened Sameh, so she huddled close to Aza’s leg.

But it what was behind the men that frightened her the most. Two litters lay in the snow, white sheets hiding what lay on them. There were shields on top of the white sheets – one she didn’t recognise, but the other she did. Ma’s shield, that she bought when they used to live in Camp Bluefog. It was a battered, scratched up thing, but Ma had painted a roaring lion on it to brighten up the dull grey of it.

That lion had several scars cutting through its snarling face, where the bad men’s swords had glanced off it. The paint was flaked and faded, and the metal was as bright as when Ma bought it. Someone must’ve polished it.

The priest looked about when they were all gathered. He looked really young, dressed in dark robes with a thick book hanging at his belt, and his eyes hidden behind thick, dark glasses. His mouth was pinched, like he was unused to smiling, and Sameh supposed that if he looked after dead people all the time, he wouldn’t have much to smile about. It was why Selort was so grumpy, she decided. All he did was look after ill people and watch them die, and that must be a really unhappy way to live.

“Lord Lynel,” the priest finally said, peering at Aza from over his glasses. His eyes were such a pale blue they looked almost white, “You’re attending the service?”

“Moral support,” was all Aza said, his gloved hand landing heavily on Sameh’s head. It was warm.

The priest eyed Sameh long enough that she felt uncomfortable.

“Very well,” was all he said, brushing his hands down the front of his robes, “We’ll begin the procession to Witchdrop.”

Sameh didn’t really remember the walk. The grim-faced men picked up the two litters, with two spare in front, their hands on their sword-hilts, and the procession walked away from Camp Dragonhead. Sameh kept close to Aza’s side. Aza’s hand rested on the nape of her neck. The thin, pale woman shuffled apart from them, her head bowed low. She had a pretty, off-cream cloth in her hand, and occasionally she would dab at her eyes with them, like she feared ruining it with her tears. In the corner there was ‘Yours Forever, M’. The lettering was pretty.

It was these things Sameh focused on, not the grim-faced men carrying Ma along the frozen road. The snow came down thicker and harder, and her ears ached and her nose went numb, and she curled her tail as much as she could under the too big coat to keep it warm, her fur too thin to fend off the chill. They walked.

They eventually stopped. It was on a big, flat cliff that overlooked a deep ravine. The wind was harsher here, but the grim-faced men and the priest were indifferent to it. The priest’s dark robes were already speckled in a thin layer of white, the flakes caught in his pale hair. His nose was pink.

“We are gathered here today, to beseech Halone to accept two wayward souls, who…”

Sameh didn’t listen. Her gaze kept drifting to the litter with Ma on it. The lion on her shield was hidden beneath a thick later of snow now. She stared until her eyes stung, the wind making them hurt, but she didn’t look away. The pale-faced woman started crying. Ugly, heaving sobs as she buried her face into her cloth. One of the grim-faced men bowed his head, like he was ashamed.

Aza was silent next to her. His hand was the only warm thing, pressed against the back of her neck.

It was odd. Sameh felt disconnected from what was happening. She thought she’d be like the woman, crying and unable to stop because this was goodbye forever for Ma. But she didn’t feel much of anything. Her stomach hurt, and she felt ill, and her head pounded and her ears ached from cold – but there was nothing. She felt like someone had reached in and scooped out her insides, like what you do with cantaloupe. Scoop it out so there’s nothing in there. Empty. It didn’t look like Ma, anyway. If she narrowed her eyes, it was just a snowy shield on top of a snowy blanket.

Ma was big, and firm, and loud. She always smiled, grinned, smirked, and she would ruffle her hair and pick her up and let her ride on her shoulders. She was strong, and she made sure everyone _knew_ she was strong too. To try and say that Ma was the same as the thing on the litter, lying silent and still and blank was… it wasn’t right. That wasn’t Ma anymore. Ma had gone away. Ma had left her behind. Ma will no longer ruffle her hair or pick her up and swing her onto her shoulders. She won’t curl around her at night and whisper stories of young heroines fighting big scary monsters and winning. She won’t point out the stars whenever they moved from different places, because Ma followed where work went, and she would make up different stories because normal tales about them were too boring or stale. There’d be none of that anymore.

The snow was so thick Sameh couldn’t see anymore. Her eyes stung and her throat burned. Everything was a smear of white and black smudges, and her cheeks were wet from snow.

Ma was gone.

The woman made a noise that was barely human, a low, keening noise of pain. Everything flared bright, a flash of fire, but Sameh still couldn’t see, her vision still blurry from snow, just flickering orange and red that hurt her eyes. There was a smell of. Of. Sameh did not let the thought finish. She blindly reached up, her fingers touching the snow-damp sleeve of Aza’s dark gambeson. She couldn’t talk. Her throat was closed up. But Aza’s hand moved from her nape, and gently curled his fingers around hers.

Sameh held on as tight as she could, her tiny fingernails digging into the leather of his gloves, as she silently cried into the collar of her coat. Ma burned bright, and not long after that, her dark ashes were carried along on the snow and over the ravine.

Ma flew away.

And that was that.

 

* * *

 

The world continued like nothing happened when they returned to Camp Dragonhead.

Sameh sat on a wooden crate next to the Chocobo stables in a daze. Aza was speaking to the Chocobo porter. One of Emma’s knights were stacking the boxes that they took back from the bad men. The snow had stopped by then, and Sameh blankly watched a pair of children across the stone courtyard frolic in a snowdrift with loud, happy laughter.

The whole Camp was loud. People stomped back and forth, yelling and laughing and chatting. Knights clanked by in their armour, grumbling about patrol rotations or the food the cook served last night, travellers wandered by in confusion, asking about inns and getting queer looks from the locals, sellswords leaned against the stone walls in their own little cliques, dressed in thick coats and shivering where the locals weren’t. In the middle of the day, so many people were travelling through the camp, foreigners in clothes that were unsuited to the snow and frost, pushing on caravans laden with their entire lives on the back, all yelling that they were heading to Ishgard, which gate, which gate...

Sameh watched them. They didn’t know her whole world had just collapsed. They all walked by like there was nothing wrong.

“Sameh,” Aza’s voice was suddenly very close. She flinched.

Aza was looming over her. His face was difficult to read as usual, but his expression seemed a little softer. His hair was a little messy, the windy snow from earlier having tugged it half-free from its tight braid, and it fell about his face in half-curled, slightly frizzy strands. She watched the slight wind pull at them.

“I got us a Chocobo to carry your belongings,” Aza told her, ignoring her drifting stare, “We’ll be meeting a Lord Edmont, who’s going to look after you in Ishgard, okay?”

“Lord Edmont…” she repeated dully, “Emma’s da?”

Aza hesitated, “Yes.”

Sameh bowed her head, unsure on how to feel about that. Was Aza leaving her too? She supposed it was only normal. Aza was just a traveller who treated her kindly. He didn’t have to do all these things, but… she had thought… with how long he lingered, how kind he’d been, how he held her hand as she wept… he was scary, but there were parts that reminded her of Ma, and, maybe, she had thought…

“…okay,” she said. Her determination from yesterday felt all guttered out. She had to go to Ishgard now, because she didn’t know what else to do. Ma had no other family for her to go to, and Da… Sameh pressed her knuckles against her thighs, digging them in as a helpless kind of anger clenched her stomach. She… she…

Aza reached out and ruffled her hair like Ma did.

“It’ll be okay,” he told her, “The further you walk, the less… the less it hurts.”

“That sounds like a lie,” Sameh sniffled angrily, scrubbing at her burning eyes with the back of her hand.

“Yeah,” Aza said, “It’s a filthy lie.”

He dropped his hand from her hair and heaved a deep, tired sigh. He shifted his weight – then squatted down, so he had to look up at her, his body angled so his large sword didn’t hit the cracked stone beneath him. His expression was serious.

“It’ll never go away, that pain,” he told her bluntly, “It’ll always hurt. When someone you love dies, they tear a chunk right out of you, and like any wound it bleeds at first, and scabs over, and aches, and dulls, but eventually heals… and then it’ll happen all over again when someone else dies.”

Aza’s words were bitter, his eyes smoky dark with grief.

“Each time another chunk gets ripped away, and that wound reopens and you bleed all over again,” he reached out, his large hands clasping Sameh’s. They were warm, “The pain is just as sharp before and you never get used to it, but it makes you harder, some say stronger… or more brittle.”

It sounds terrible and Sameh shakes right down to her toes at the thought of a lifetime of this awful, horrible pain in her, “I…”

“But,” Aza spoke over her, “You just need to keep going, okay? It hurts each time it happens, but it’ll keep hurting if you wallow in it. You need to… it’s easy to shy away from loving anyone else, so you don’t feel it again, but it’s worth it. It’s worth it trying even if it risks that pain. So, you have to keep walking, you have to keep loving, even if the world tries its damnest to make you do otherwise.”

Aza smiled, a wry twist of his lips, and he squeezed her hands gently.

“Spite,” he murmured, “Is a powerful motivator at times. So, if you feel yourself faltering, just think, ‘I’m not gonna let this pain beat me. I’m gonna keep going because fuck you’.”

Sameh let out an uncertain, hiccupping noise at the rude word – it might’ve been a laugh, or a muffled sob, she didn’t know. It kind of sounded… sounded like…

“T-That’s… that sounds like something Ma would say…” Sameh whispered.

“Then you know I’m right, if your Ma would say it. Now,” Aza let go of her hands and pushed himself to his feet. His knees clicked, and he hissed quietly, as if in pain, “Oof… are you ready to go? The rest of your life is waiting.”

Sameh wiped at her eyes and let her hand drop to the leather strap across her chest, holding Ma’s sword to her back. She still felt awful. Her stomach still hurt. Ma’s absence felt like a hole in her belly where everything was slowly sliding into. But…

Ma always said grit and determination carried you through, no matter what. Ma would want her to keep going. Even if Ma left her behind, she would want her to keep going. She would…

She would.

“I’m ready,” she said, pushing herself off the wooden crate and onto her own two feet.

 

* * *

 

The Steps of Faith heaved.

The wide, stone bridge were crammed full of caravans and people – there were even some ramshackle tents put up alongside the half-crumbled walls that lined the path to the large, towering gates. Sameh couldn’t help but stare in disbelief at the amount of people – all of them trying to get through the gate to Ishgard beyond, and judging by how ill-tempered people looked the closer they got, Sameh was assuming it was a long wait.

She said as such to Aza, who merely laughed, “Long wait for _them_. Not us.”

He didn’t elaborate despite her questioning look. He just led her and the rental Chocobo carrying her belongings through the tight throng of caravans. Aza ‘politely’ nudged a few people and livestock aside to help their passage, though some people practically leapt to get out of Aza’s way. She knew he had a scary face, but the way some people reacted… Sameh frowned in puzzlement when an Ul’dahn Lalafell merchant, sitting at the front of his caravan, almost toppled off it in surprise when Aza squeezed past him.

The line thinned the closer they got to the gate. Sour-faced knights stalked up and down the line, keeping a few rowdy, ill-tempered merchants and workers in line with a few sharp words and a pointed hand on their hilt. Though the gate leading to the bridge was _huge_ … there was only one small inner gate that was open, just wide enough to allow a Chocobo caravan to squeak on through. Heavy plated knights guarded it, their halberds crossed over it until the person next in line passed a rigorous interrogation and paperwork check by the equally heavily armoured knight standing before it.

One caravan, laden with food, trundled through the gate. The halberds came down, but before the next man in line – a richly dressed Ul’dahn merchant with two caravans filled with rugs and silks, with an entourage of bulky sellswords – Aza just barged in front of him and in front of the heavily armoured knight. The merchant immediately squawked in flustered insult. He was quickly silenced by one of the knights snapping at him.

The armoured knight’s face was hidden behind a full-faced helmet, but his entire being gave off an air of tired exasperation.

“…Lord Lynel,” the knight said, “How rare of you to take the gate.”

“I wanted to see this ‘immigration crisis’ up close,” Aza returned pleasantly, “I also have a new ward of House Fortemps to present. A letter from Emmanellain de Fortemps of Camp Dragonhead as proof.”

The knight waved the extended letter away, “No need, ser, no need. If I cannot trust the Slayer of Nidhogg’s word, then whose can I trust? No, she can go in… when you complete the immigration form.”

Aza… twitched.

“Form?” he asked tightly.

The knight nodded slowly, “Yes… it’s a new stopgap the House of Lords introduced to try and manage this… deluge. The Lord Commander was overruled, you see,” he sighed, “I’m sorry, ser, for inconveniencing you this way, but it should only take a moment. Oi! Reneux! Get me a spare form!”

A knight in light, leather armour and soft, padded shoes ran up, brandishing a paper and a pencil like they were a sword and shield.

“Lord Lynel!” Reneux gasped, “It’s an honour and-”

Aza just snatched the paper and pencil off him. He looked annoyed, which Sameh didn’t understand. It was just a form, “Yes, I know. You’re welcome. Excuse me.”

Aza stomped off, and Sameh had to jog to keep up with him and the nervous Chocobo. They sheltered next to the far stone wall of the gate, away from the line of travellers. The Ul’dahn merchant immediately began complaining about rude Miqo’te, but Sameh tuned him out instantly.

Aza was squinting at the paper in his hand. He suddenly squatted down, pressing it flat against the cold floor, and Sameh leaned over to read it. She knew her letters well enough – Ma made sure she could do that much at least, and Sameh was proud to say she took to it very well! She even learned cursive, even if it made her letterings all squished and wobbly, but she was working on that.

The top line said ‘Name’, but Aza didn’t move to fill it in.

“I don’t have a last name,” Sameh told him, “Ma was a Seeker, so she didn’t have one.”

Aza’s ear twitched, “Okay.”

He still didn’t move to fill the box out.

Sameh waited for a moment. The Chocobo was scratching at the floor in open boredom, ‘kwehing’ quietly. A slow suspicion began to blossom in her. She recognised that blank look on Aza’s face. Ma got it whenever she encountered anything more difficult than simple words. Ma was never so good at reading and writing, because she never needed to back with the tribe, so…

“Um, mister?” she asked hesitantly, “I know my letters and stuff.”

Aza’s gaze slowly slid to her. It took her a moment to decipher his expression. He looked _ashamed_ and embarrassed, which clashed so hard with his usual blank, confident demeanour that Sameh briefly felt wrong-footed. But she quickly swallowed it down, because – well, this can be her way of paying him back for his kindness. She’ll help him here.

“I want to fill it out,” she continued, “It’ll be easier than me telling you stuff. I don’t mind.”

There was a pause, but Aza shifted the paper to her and held out the pencil, looking away with an unhappy twist to his mouth.

It didn’t take long to fill out the form. It asked for her name, her age, where she was born… the difficult stuff was about her lineage and if she had a history of diseases and what skills she could carry to Ishgard. She answered as well as she could and made sure to keep her writing at its neatest and best, if they were going to pretend Aza wrote this. She finished it off by making up a squiggly signature for Aza and handed the paper and pencil back to him.

“….thanks,” Aza mumbled, his ears set back slightly.

“It’s okay. Ma couldn’t read or write so well either,” Sameh said. It hurt to say that, but, she swallowed it down, “I’ll help you with this stuff, easy.”

“I can read…” he mumbled, but he just folded the paper up and pushed himself to his feet. Sameh scrambled to follow when he walked back to the line, form in hand.

The Ul’dahn merchant was still there, arguing with the heavy-plated knight. Apparently, his attempts to enter Ishgard weren’t going so well.

“Here,” Aza said, cutting across the Ul’dahn merchant and thrusting the form almost directly into the knight’s visor, “Form finished.”

“Oh- fuck, right, thanks, m’lord,” the knight said, quickly snatching the paper from him, “Off you go, then. Welcome to Ishgard, little miss.”

Sameh squeaked out a timid ‘thank you’ and followed close on Aza’s heels as they walked towards the scary halberd knights. The weapons parted with a loud hiss, the knights standing to firm attention as they slammed the butts of the halberds against the stone floor.

“SER!” they roared, and Sameh almost jumped out of her skin from the noise.

Aza ignored them.

The Steps of Faith stretched out before them, large, wide, and heavily scarred. There were parts of the bridge that were scorched and scoured with deep gouges, half of the towers lining its edges under construction. It was such a long walk, and the wind blew and howled here, sharp and cutting and cold. But in the distance… Sameh could see Ishgard, cold and grey like a spiky mountain squatting amongst low, dark clouds. Bells, deep and loud, echoed faintly across the bridge, giving it an eerie, mystical quality.

“There she is,” Aza muttered, eyeing Ishgard with a strange kind of wistfulness, “Ishgard.”

“It looks, um…” Sameh tried to think of a flattering thing to say, “…tall.”

“Yeah, I thought so too when I saw it the first time,“ Aza said, his mouth quirking into a wryly amused smile, “But it’ll grow on you. It’s cold and harsh but… it’s okay, I guess.”

Aza held his hand out – Sameh took it without hesitating.

“You ready?”

“Mm.”

They began across the Steps of Faith, towards the looming city that sat solemnly amongst the dark clouds. It almost looked like something out of a fairytale, but Sameh felt Ma’s absence keenly. She could only imagine what Ma would’ve said seeing this. She would’ve liked how it looked, even if it gave off a really unwelcoming impression. It kind of frightened Sameh.

But she had to keep going. Keep walking. Aza’s hand was a firm guide, pulling her along whenever her steps faltered. Ma would be saying what an adventure this would be, exploring a city in the clouds. Grit and determination, make the coldest of places welcoming. Sameh can do this. She can do this. She can. She can.

Ishgard loomed over her, tall and oppressive.

She can do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THEY'RE IN ISHGARD.
> 
> also aza has no idea how to comfort grieving children, really. he tries his best though. 
> 
> please comment/kudos if you enjoyed!
> 
> ALSO. A FRIEND OF MINE, SENSENAOYA ON TUMBLR, DREW AYM/AZA FANART FOR ME. SEE [HERE](https://gyazo.com/7eb9ace580f5043edb7aff415c0ebf7f)! AZA'S TELLING A DUMB ASS STORY WITH PROPS AND ENJOYING IT WAY TOO MUCH ARGHGHGHGHG SHE MAKES HIM SMILE SO PRETTILY. 
> 
> Ahem. Also they've opened [commissions](http://senlitheringme.deviantart.com/), if anyone is interested >w>


	6. Chapter 6

“Lord Edmont. Ser Aza has arrived with a guest.”

Edmont looked up from the memoir he was scribing, pleasantly surprised. Rare was it, for Aza to call upon him without prompting. He couldn’t blame the man – every time they ran into each other, he could see the guilt, pain and shame in his eyes – but Edmont had long since resigned himself to the fact that Haurchefant’s dearest friend would refuse to step foot in his home again. The only time he ever after the Heavensward scandal was… oh dear, he wasn’t…

“Is Ser Aza drunk?” Edmont asked his steward warily.

“No, m’lord. He seems sober.”

‘Seems sober’. Well.

The last impromptu visit Aza had done ended up being something of a mess. The man had been drunk, emotional and had some irrational need to all but prostrate himself before Edmont for failing Haurchefant. It had been a mentally exhausting night, Aza had gotten far too emotional, and it ended with a grim-faced Thancred all but dragging him out of the manor – but that memory stayed with Edmont. Everyone saw the Warrior of Light as a stoic, distant man, but Edmont would never forget the raw, burning grief Aza had spilled out at his feet. 

That was also the beginning of Aza refusing his invitations. He supposed the Miqo’te felt too embarrassed to call upon him again. Edmont didn’t press the issue. That moment ended up being a silent, albeit oppressive, oliphaunt in the room between them.

“Very well. Tell him I will be by soon.”

“As you wish, m’lord,” his steward murmured, bowing shortly to him before leaving.

Edmont sighed, bottling his ink bottle and letting his unfinished memoirs lay open. It took effort to climb to his feet, his leg paining him terribly as he groped for his cane, hobbling across the study. Ever since Haurchefant’s death, he felt as if he aged years for every month that past by. Life just seemed… a little duller, without him.

But Edmont pushed on. It was what his son would have wanted.

 

* * *

 

The house was the fanciest building Sameh had ever set foot in.

She sat, half-petrified, on the edge of her plush, soft velvet seat. The walls were a soft blue, the carpet was plush, a warm fire crackled in the large, ornate stone hearth, and the furniture was… fancy. That was all Sameh could describe it as. It was like looking at all the fancy things the Ul’dahn merchants sold in the bazaar, but in an actual fancy building, and Sameh found it _scary_.

This was a _rich_ person’s house, and Ma always said rich people were the worst kind. Too many times they always short-changed Ma whenever she did jobs on their caravans, and Ma would have to accept it with a tight-smile and angry eyes, because they’d always say she was lucky they even took a chance on her in the first place, what with being a _Miqo’te_ mercenary, and if she wanted more she’d just have to take more jobs until they could trust she was reliable.

They always said that word like it was funny. ‘Miqo’te mercenary’. Sameh remembered when one merchant suggested she take up dancing, like the other ‘girls’. Ma had near skewered him on the end of her sword for that, though Sameh didn’t know what was wrong with dancing. Though, the Miqo’te dancers in Ul’dah never looked happy half the time… maybe it was too boring or exhausting, to dance every day for money.

Sameh cast a glance at Aza. He was slouched in his chair, drumming his gloved fingers on the arm in open restlessness. Aza was a ‘Miqo’te mercenary’, but instead of being sneered at or patronised like Ma was, everyone feared him. Sameh had seen it. The knights are Camp Dragonhead were afraid but respectful. No one openly insulted him. Everyone moved out of his way. Aza moved proud and confident, and like now he looked comfortable in his own security. Sameh kind of envied him a little and wondered why it was different for Aza.

“Mister,” she asked before she thought it through, and squeaked when Aza’s yellow eyes flicked to her.

“…you can just call me ‘Aza’, y’know,” he told her, his blank expression easing into an amused smile, “Mister makes me sound old.”

“Aza,” Sameh amended nervously, “Um, I was wondering… you’re a mercenary, right?”

“Hm,” Aza seemed to mull over his answer for a moment. For some reason he looked _really_ amused, “I suppose I’m something like a mercenary, yeah.”

“Then, um…” Sameh considered her words, braced herself, “Ma’s a… Ma was – she was a mercenary,” she began, pushing through the tight feeling in her belly, “And, she was really strong, but, um, no one… you seem a lot more, um…”

“Respected?” Aza’s smile had faded into a grimace, “Taken seriously?”

“…yeah,” Sameh whispered.

“Was this in Ul’dah?”

Sameh nodded, for some reason feeling uncomfortable. Aza was beginning to look angry.

“Typical. I went there first when I came to Eorzea,” Aza’s tail lashed, audibly thumping against the leg of his chair, “I had it better, I guess, for being a man, but I had just as many asking if I was going to join ‘the business’, or assumed I was and tried to pay for a night. Hrmph, I set them straight right quick.”

“The… business? A night? Huh?” Sameh asked, a little confused now. The lazy confidence Aza had before was gone. He was tense and angry, his ears set right back – like Ma whenever a merchant had been rude or tried to suggest the dancing job to her.

Aza opened his mouth to reply – but paused. He glanced at her, as if realising something, and closed his mouth with a frown.

“…you’ll know when you’re older,” he said uncomfortably, “Just know that if you ever have a creepy guy asking if you want to be a dancer or a model, or offering you money to spend time with him, stab him.”

Sameh stared at him in open alarm.

“I mean it,” Aza said seriously, “ _Stab him_. Kill him. Run away. They’re bad people. Never trust them.”

“O-Okay,” Sameh said, a little worried now at the dark look on Aza’s face. He was being scary again, so she stopped asking questions and fidgeted with her sleeves. Her coat was hung up in the front hall, so she was just in Ma’s roughly sewn clothes. She felt so shabby in this fancy house, and she felt an odd twinge of annoyance about it. Stupid house. Ma’s clothes were good. How dare it make them look bad by being all fancy?

Before Sameh could get too annoyed about the house though, the door to the sitting room opened, and a tall, dark haired man, leaning heavily on a cane limped in. He had a kind, welcoming face, and Sameh felt her knot of nervousness relax a little. He looked nice, like Emma, but less weird.

Aza instantly got to his feet, his expression… odd as he bowed awkwardly, like he was unused to it, “Lord Edmont.”

‘Lord Edmont’ waved his hand dismissively, hobbling to an empty armchair, “Please, Aza, how many times must I say it? Just Edmont will do.”

Aza didn’t reply. He was watching Edmont from beneath his fringe, still standing at stiff attention as Edmont slowly, painfully, lowered himself into his armchair. Edmont didn’t seem to mind Aza’s weird behaviour, instead looking at her with open curiosity.

“And who are you, m’lady?” Edmont asked her, “Aza’s special guest, I assume?”

Sameh glanced at Aza, unsure on how to respond. This man was a lord, so, she should speak as well as she could. She racked her brains for the proper courtesy, “I’m- um, I _am_ , um, Sameh of, of Z’yonti, sir- mister? Lord? Um…”

Edmont chuckled warmly, “Calm, Sameh. I extend the same invitation to you; just Edmont will do.”

Sameh nodded a bit awkwardly, still sitting ramrod straight on the edge of her seat. Her heart was beating fast, and she still didn’t know what was going on. Did Aza intend for her to stay in this fancy house, with this really nice lord? It made her head spin to think about. It was… she should be happy but, she just felt kind of queasy.

“I’m hoping to ask a favour of you, Edmont,” Aza finally said. His tone was quiet, “Sameh here, she… she has nowhere to go, and, I was hoping… Emmanellain even wrote a letter…”

“Let me see,” Edmont asked, holding his hand out. Aza hesitated, but leaned over to give it to him.

The quiet was almost tense as Aza fidgeted in place, and Sameh just stayed still, holding her breath as Edmont unfolded Emma’s letter and read it.

“He respectfully asks that I accept her as a ward of House Fortemps,” Edmont murmured, “Well, no easy feat considering that mess at the gates. I assume you have seen the horde on the Steps of Faith?”

Aza made a weird face, “There were a lot of hopeful immigrants, yeah.”

“They have helped us greatly, but also caused a large burden to be placed on the city,” Edmont said, and Sameh was confused. What did this have to do with her living here? “Because of that, the government have been strict on who to accept and who to deny. It sounds unbelievable, but it is even _harder_ to accept foreigners as wards than when Haurchefant petitioned for your asylum. It requires more than a few sponsorships from select individuals. It requires going through the proper channels, submitting the correct paperwork, but…”

“I bet it’s still a work in progress system that’s horrifically backlogged and bottle-necked,” Aza finished grimly, “I see…”

“Of course,” Edmont continued lightly, “Sameh here can stay whilst her request for asylum is being processed. No one will argue for throwing out a young, defenceless child out into the snow just because she doesn’t have the correct paperwork.”

“Or the Brume,” Aza added, sounding cynical, “Maybe… do we _have_ to announce her to the government?”

“Unless you wish for myself and Artoriel to be brought into disrepute for flouncing the laws,” Edmont said dryly, “It would be a scandal, would it not?”

Aza bowed his head, conceding to that point.  

“Ask the Lord Commander for his support, and I will vouch to keep her here as well,” Edmont said, “She will be safe, Aza.”

“Yes, Aymeric might…” Aza mumbled under his breath, “I better see him immediately, start this… paperwork hell.”

“Aza?” Sameh asked, terribly lost, “I don’t understand. What’s happening?”

Aza startled, as if just realising she was still there, and when he glanced at her he looked apologetic, “Oh, Sameh, I’m sorry. We’re just talking about… boring stuff.”

Sameh frowned at him, her ears tilting back slightly at the slight brush-off. “But it’s about me…”

“We’re talking about your citizenry, Sameh,” Edmont said gently. He had a very pleasant voice, Sameh decided. Very calm and soothing. She found her ruffled fur settling at the sound of it, “To live here, you need the proper paperwork to say you have permission from the government.”

“Paperwork?” Sameh wrinkled her nose, “But, me and Ma never had paperwork for the other places.”

“Ishgard’s… different,” Aza said wryly, “The rest of Eorzea have open borders, but Ishgard doesn’t, so it’s a nightmare trying to get permission to stay here.”

Sameh had no idea. How did Ma expect to come here then? She said she already had a job, but she never said what exactly… but had been very excited about it. Sameh felt her heart sink to her feet, realising she would never know. Ma had said it’d be a surprise.

Her belly hurt, but she fought down the abrupt, clenching feeling in her throat and swallowed thickly. She wasn’t going to spend all her time _crying_! No, be strong for Ma. You can do it.

“Okay,” was all she said instead.

“We’ll sort it out,” Aza told her, and he leaned over to give her hair a hard ruffle so her head wobbled from side to side. She always felt dizzy and got a crick in her neck when he did that, “Leave it to us, okay? You just relax here.”

Relax. Sameh didn’t think she could relax. Everything was too fancy here, too alien and strange. But she just nodded. It was what was expected of her now, and Aza seemed pleased at her compliance. Edmont, however, was giving her a sympathetic look, as if he understood her feelings.

Maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t. Sameh was finding herself unable to care.

 

* * *

 

Aymeric had a headache, and it was called Lord Dounon.

Lord Dounon was a man who had a reputation long before Aymeric assumed the post of Lord Commander. He was blustery, loud and prone to taking insult where there was none. By some malicious prank of fate he somehow managed to slither underneath the initial corruption purges amongst the ranks of the highborn – despite Aymeric knowing full well he had a few fingers in some rotten pies – and took a seat amongst the House of Lords. The day his sizeable rump parked into that seat, Lord Dounon had decided it was his Halone-given right to drive Aymeric into early insanity by being the most obstinate man he ever had the displeasure to work with – which was an impressive feat considering the men Aymeric had to rub elbows with during his initial rise towards Lord Commander.

Right now, Lord Dounon was making a nuisance of himself by loudly complaining about the ‘invading mob of immigrants assaulting the Steps of Faith’, like they were a roving band of marauders trying to break down the gates and pillage the city. It was during a semi-official meeting too, so Aymeric simply couldn’t walk away to avoid a conversation that he could probably recite from memory by now.

Luckily, it wasn’t just him grimacing in open distaste. Lord Roufoud, a lackadaisical noble who was notorious for being rather lax with his decorum and manners, and for fathering more than a few bastards, was silently mouthing along to Dounon’s ranting with exaggerated facial expressions. It made Lord Pruimois, an old friend of his, across the table from him tremble with suppressed laughter.

Aymeric felt a headache begin to throb between his temples.

“-they will push the rate of poverty and homelessness amongst our people to record highs!” Dounon was ranting, and Aymeric regretting tuning back into the conversation immediately, “Stealing homes that could go to those languishing in the Brume-”

“Strange that you care so much for the Brume now,” Aymeric couldn’t help but say snidely, “What was it you said a month ago? Those who languish in the Brume do so because of their own laziness and poor behaviour?”

Dounon just blustered past that criticism, “Well! How are we meant to motivate them to become proper members of society if we have nothing to reward them with?”

Aymeric stared at him, tuning out the rest of his words, and actually, _genuinely_ , wished he could just… push him down the stairs after this meeting. He was certain most of the Lords in this meeting right now would join in him in the shoving. They could all be each other’s alibis, say that he just tripped and, oh dear, he broke his neck. What a shame.

It was a fleeting, dark fantasy that Aymeric entertained for all of three seconds before feeling terribly about it. No matter how awful of a man Dounon was, the moment he toyed with political assassination was the day this fledging Republic died. No, he’d have to get rid of him legally, somehow…

Dounon trailed off when the door to the meeting opened. A Temple Knight poked their head in and then quietly shuffled in. It was a young knight – one of the recruits in the later stages of their training. They normally acted as runners for messages within the city, and this one seemed no different. Nervous underneath the stares of the assembled lords, the knight – a short, stocky woman with her hair hidden beneath her chainmoil coif – trotted over to Aymeric and bent low to whisper a bit too loud into his ear.

“The Warrior of Light begs an audience with you, sir. Emergency, he says.”

Aymeric frowned. Emergency?

“Excuse me, my lords,” Aymeric said, rising from his seat as the knight took half a step back, “I must attend to an important matter. Carry on without me.”

As Aymeric followed the knight out of the room, he faintly heard Lord Roufoud joke, “Who’s willing to bet that ‘emergency’ is the Cat being in heat?”

The answering sniggers were cut off by door closing shut behind him. Aymeric’s jaw clenched in suppressed anger. The lack of respect towards Aza from some of the lords absolutely _aggravated_ him. His partner had done more for this city than the lot of them combined, had saved all their ungrateful hides from Nidhogg himself, and they still had the gall to sneer down on him because of his race and birth. ‘Cat’, they called him behind his back, or ‘the Lord Commander’s pet’, like he was some animal at Aymeric’s beck and call. And considering what he knew of Aza’s past… oh, it _infuriated_ him. Those ungrateful, stuck up-

“Um, sir?” the Temple Knight recruit asked hesitantly, and Aymeric realised he’d been glaring at nothing for a long while.

“Nothing, knight,” Aymeric muttered, letting out his frustration with a deep, heavy exhale, “Merely a long day. Did Aza tell you what this emergency entailed?”

“No, sir.”

Worrisome.

Aymeric’s temper had cooled considerably by the time he walked from the House of Lords Chamber to the Congregation of the Knights Most Heavenly. This place always felt comforting after returning from that nest of poisonous vipers, and he dismissed the knight as he made a beeline for his office.

Aza was sitting on the edge of his desk, with a hand cradling his head and looking just as drained as Aymeric felt.

“You look terrible,” was the first thing Aza said, straightening up from his exhausted slouch as Aymeric closed the door firmly behind him, “The Lords again?”

“I wish I could drown Dounon,” Aymeric admitted, slowly moving towards his desk. Aza watched him with heavy-lidded eyes, a small smile playing on his lips as he subtly parted his legs. Aymeric slid easily between them, the desk giving Aza enough height to be up to his shoulders.

He leaned down. Aza lifted his arms. He smiled when his partner wrapped his arms around his shoulders, his knees pressing against his hips, holding him close as their noses brushed. They didn’t kiss, though. Aymeric was aware that there was business here.

“You said there was an emergency?” he asked quietly.

“Mm, kind of,” Aza murmured, leaning in enough so their lips touched in the barest of brushes, “I need your help.”

Aymeric felt his heart skip slightly – rare was it for Aza to say that so easily. He was not the sort to quickly admit to needing aid. This either meant he trusted him… or it was dire. He was going to think it was the former, just for his own peace of mind right now.

“With…?” he asked leadingly, making a small noise when Aza kissed him a bit firmer this time. The hint of fangs nipped at his bottom lip, worrying it – making him briefly forget he even asked a question until Aza pulled away – firm fingers in his hair halting his mindless chase. He huffed.

“With paperwork,” Aza told him, smiling at his pouting… until sobering into a more serious expression, “For Ishgardian citizenship.”

Mood gone, Aymeric leaned back, Aza’s embrace loose and relaxed around him. Ishgardian citizenship…? “You already have citizenship, love.”

“Not for me, you silly,” Aza tutted, giving his hair a playful tug, “For someone else.”

Someone else? Who? Only other person he could think Aza doing this for was… “Bluebird?”

“Gods, could you imagine Bluebird being an official Ishgardian?” Aza muttered, wrinkling his nose at the thought, “No, not her. It’s for a girl called Sameh.”

The name meant absolutely nothing to Aymeric.

Aza clearly saw his blank look, “She’s a Miqo’te girl, Keeper-Seeker, about ten years old. I was hoping Lord Edmont could take her in as a ward, but he said you need to go through proper channels nowadays for that, so… I was hoping you could help me grant her citizenship. Can you?”

A Miqo’te girl of ten years old, a hybrid like Aza, that he wants Ishgardian citizenship for…

…

…

“Where… did this girl come from?” Aymeric asked as lightly as he could, feeling a very weird feeling in the pit of his stomach at the suspicion that bloomed in him, “Is she…?”

Aza instantly caught his meaning, and his expression flattened, “She’s not mine.”

Oh, thank the Fury, Aymeric thought – then instantly felt horrible for the relief he felt. It was just… he didn’t feel jealous of Aza’s past experiences, just as Aza didn’t feel any for his, but there was a difference between knowing, distantly, your lover had sex with someone else once upon a time – and seeing actual consequential evidence of it. He felt ill-prepared to confront the idea of Aza having fathered a child with someone else. It made an unsettled feeling twist low in his belly.  

“Ah, then who’s…?”

Aza looked away briefly, “A woman called Z’yonti. She was killed by bandits on the road and Sameh was… left alive. I couldn’t just leave her there so I… took her with me and here we are.”

Aza was tense in his arms, and Aymeric gently, slowly, rubbed his hands along his sides. Aza shivered beneath Aymeric’s touch, and he bowed his head, leaning in until his forehead pressed against the hollow of Aymeric’s throat, his ears drooping. His breaths came out uneven, like he was on the verge of breaking down.

“I don’t know what to do with her,” Aza admitted quietly to him, “I was going to leave her with Emmanellain, but… I couldn’t. I looked at her and I saw… I can’t look after her, Aymeric. I’ll fuck her up.”

“Aza…”

“No, I don’t want to hear it,” Aza heaved a shuddering, strained breath, “Please, just help me with the paperwork. I’ll… I’ll talk about it later.”

Aymeric hesitated – but gave in. They were both tired and drained… later sounded better, “Alright, love. I’ll get started on it first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you,” Aza mumbled into his collarbone, and tightened his arms around him, hugging him tight.

It was going to be a headache to deal with, Aymeric realised. Pushing through paperwork ahead of others on behalf of Aza for a young Miqo’te child. Gods, the rumours that she was his bastard would cycle through whole of Ishgard before a full day passed. Lord Roufoud and Dounon were going to be _merciless_ , for there was nothing more petty and vicious than a gossiping noble.

Aymeric said none of this, though, and kissed the top of Aza’s head, “Anything for you, love.”

If it came to it, he could always find a way to send Lord Roufoud and Dounon somewhere far away. Like, hm, an envoy to Doma, perhaps, with a letter to Hien to sent ahead to explain the situation. It felt petty and was a terrible abuse of his position and connections, but…

It was very tempting.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From an Ishgardian point of view, all Miqo'te are technically bastards if you think about it. From a Miqo'te's point of view, there're no such thing as bastards. It's an interesting clash of cultural outlooks, if you think about it lol Just wanted to make that point, because I know that Miqo'te don't have 'bastards' as such, but since this fic is predominantly gonna be from Ishgardian POVs, they will use the term bc that's how it looks from their point of view. 
> 
> Next chapter Aymeric will meet Sameh! He'll be charmed, I'm sure, though a little weirded out by Aza actively encouraging a ten year old girl to stab people who make her uncomfortable. Aza, pls, no. 
> 
> Please comment/kudos if you enjoyed! Also a big thank you to all of you who keep supporting my writing even if I'm an unreliable asshole at times. It always makes my day to see a comment or kudos dropped my way <3


	7. Chapter 7

Aza left Sameh behind.

He had ruffled her hair and told her that he was going to sort out her citizenship issue, and for her to be good for Edmont and not to worry, he wasn’t abandoning her. But it kind of felt like he did when he left her alone in a strange house, with a strange man, with no idea what she was meant to do. She felt tired, and queasy, and weirdly angry, but Ma didn’t raise an ungrateful child so she swallowed it down and was polite.

Edmont was nice. His home was lovely. The bedroom he showed her was magical. The bed was like heaven.

She didn’t like any of it.

It was nighttime now, and Sameh lay in the soft, heavenly bed, clinging Ma’s sword tight to her chest with one hand, and gripped the knife with the other, half-hidden underneath her pillow. The room was so big it felt like a void and there was a barest hint of chill even when buried underneath the thick covers. It was easy during daytime not to think about it, but.

She closed her eyes and the pink-blue snakes slithered out of the wolf’s belly. But it wasn’t the wolf, it was Ma. She slid down and out came the snakes and she’d jerk awake with bile burning the back of her throat and her breaths ragged. The darkness of the room would crush in, she’d close her eyes, try to sleep. Then the Bad Men loomed over her, tried to grab her, and she screamed and thrashed and then Aza came and chopped them all to pieces, red everywhere, and she’d wake up again, swallowing down nausea and shaking and-

This was hard.

She tried a few more times to sleep. But she’d twitch awake each time and eventually gave up. She sat up, holding Ma’s sword tight. She left the knife under the pillow, hugging Ma’s sword to her chest as she scooted off the massive bed, lightly landed on the plush, soft carpet, and crept to the door. It was unlocked, so she slipped out.

The hallway was large, splashes of pale moonlight creeping between the half-parted curtains. Sameh distracted herself by looking at the paintings on the wall, their colours dull shades of grey in the dark like this. There was one of a man in spiky armour and a long spear, standing atop a scaly monster. Sameh shivered and looked away from that one. The next was of a beautiful woman, with long, dark hair and a gentle smile on her lips. Next to _that_ was Edmont, but younger looking. His smile was just as warm.

Then there was Emma – young again, with a big boyish grin. He didn’t look as tired and tense as he did in Camp Dragonhead. That was sad, he had a really nice smile.

Next to Emma was a man who bore a strong resemblance, but he had a big frown and a stern look in his eyes. A brother? Or an uncle. He looked older than Emma in the painting, and he seemingly glowered down at her. Sameh moved on and… paused.

The next painting was of another man – he was like Emma with a warm grin, but his resemblance was less than Emma and Mystery Scowling Man. His hair was steel grey, his nose flatter and narrower and his jaw sharper. Sameh studied him closely, then plucked a lock of her own hair to compare. They had the same hair colour. How weird.

At the base of his painting, there was a bronze plaque with tiny etchings on it. In the dark, Sameh had to squint and strain, even with her Keeper sight, but she slowly managed to read; _‘In loving memory of Haurchefant Greystone’_.

So not another Fortemps? Sameh leaned back on her heels, frowning curiously. What made this Haurchefant so special to sit with a collection of paintings for the Fortemps. Also, why did that name sound familiar? Haurchefant… Haurchefant… oh, didn’t Edmont mention it to Aza? Maybe? Oh, she couldn’t remember…

“I see I’m not the only one restless tonight.”

Sameh squeaked, startling so badly she dropped Ma’s sword. It tumbled to the floor with a terrible clatter, and she quickly scooped it back up, turning to see Edmont standing in the corridor. He was dressed less fancy, in nightwear maybe, leaning on his cane and looking at Haurchefant’s painting with a wistful expression. He politely didn’t comment on Sameh’s clumsy scrambling.

“M-Mister Edmont, um, I’m sorry,” she blurted, “I couldn’t sleep so, I went looking at-”

“You’re free to wander about at night all you want, provided you stay indoors,” Edmont told her gently, “Do you like the paintings?”

Sameh nodded nervously, “They’re, um, nice. Especially him.”

She pointed at the man who had the same colour hair as her, and Edmont suddenly looked terribly sad.

“Haurchefant…” he murmured softly. There was a pause, and then Edmont smiled wanly, “He was my son. A strong, wonderful knight that never shied from his duty. He… he made me proud.”

Sameh watched him closely. ‘Proud’, he said. He didn’t sound proud. He sounded pained, and despite his smile, his eyes glittered with unshed tears as he gazed upon the painting of the smiling Haurchefant. ‘Was’ his son. Sameh was young, but she understood.

“He has pretty hair,” she told him, anxious to ease his pain. She knew how it felt, when it stabbed your stomach and twisted your throat up. Ma’s sword felt like a heavy weight in her hands then, and she clutched it tight again, “And, and I bet, he’s happy, that, um, you’re proud of him. And, I bet he’s happy about this painting too. Everyone, um, likes to have a painting, especially one nice as this. And, um…”

Edmont bowed his head, took a slow, shuddering breath.

“Thank you, Sameh,” he murmured, his voice rough, “You’re too kind.”

Silence lapsed between them at that. Edmont looked at the painting of his deceased son, and Sameh looked at the sword in her hands. She wondered which was better to have. Edmont had his son smiling at him every day, but Sameh had Ma’s sword and lingering warmth. She didn’t know what she’d do with a painting of Ma. It’d just get ruined. But she didn’t know what Edmont would do with Haurchefant’s sword either. Maybe it’d be too painful for him to have. If he was a knight, then he might’ve…

A few minutes later, when Edmont collected himself, he suggested she tried to sleep again. Sameh listened to him – she was pretty tired, and when she climbed into that too big bed, in that too wide room, holding Ma’s sword close to her chest, her hand landing on the hilt of her dagger underneath her bed, she wondered.

Edmont hurt so much from his son’s death. He still managed to smile and be so kind. He must be so strong. It had only been a few days and already Sameh felt angry and resentful over everything. People were kind to her, and she felt annoyed and upset about it all. Did that make her a bad person? It just hurt too much to try and be kind like Edmont all the time. She just wanted… she wanted Ma. She didn’t want to deal with these strange people with their sympathy and kindness and – they weren’t Ma. They _weren’t_.

She missed her. She started to hate her too, for abandoning her. But she loved her so much still. It was confusing. This place was too strange and weird and she hated that too. But she should be grateful. She didn’t know how to feel. She just. She just.

Her thoughts were uneasy as she drifted into an equally uneasy sleep. There were no pink-blue snakes sliding out of bellies, no Aza hacking Bad Men to bits. There was just a Shadow looming over her with bright yellow eyes, slowly smothering her beneath a bitter, dark weight that crackled hot and flashed red.

 _Ihate_ , it said.

But it lasted only for a moment, and she slipped into a blissfully dreamless sleep after that.

* * *

 

Thancred cradled his head against his hand, the Forgotten Knight’s early morning rush blissfully subdued for his poor, aching head.

Across from him, the Mongrel, i.e beautiful Hilda, smirked at him. She looked far too pleased with herself despite nursing a hangover worse than his own and was leaning back in her seat with lazy cockiness – well-earned, mind. In the wake of the Ishgard throwing open its gates, somewhat, to Eorzeans, Hilda’s Watch had kept the peace rather well.

“I warned ya, didn’t I?” Hilda teased him, “Told ya I’d drink you under the table.”

“You did, and I’m all the fool for not heeding your words,” Thancred groaned, straightening up. Last night was meant to be a quick information exchange, and instead it had transformed into an ill-advised drinking contest, a few pretty women, and Thancred… waking up in one of the Forgotten Knight’s beds, alone and fully dressed – albeit stinking of cheap ale.

“Kinda distracted us a bit,” Hilda admitted, “Didn’t even get to business, did we?”

“No,” Thancred grunted, “I don’t particularly feel like doing business _now_ either. Oh, my head…”

“Wimp,” Hilda scoffed at him, but he noticed that she took great pains not to move overly much, and her smirk was a bit tight around the corners, her face pale. She was better at pretending, but Thancred could see right through her, “Let’s get some good food in us. Then we can-”

She stopped, her gaze slanting over Thancred’s shoulder. He didn’t bother turning. A few seconds later, and someone appeared at their table – a young member of Hilda’s Watch, his clothes patched but carefully tended for. Despite many petitions, the Watch were still equipped by the members’ own resources, rather than the state’s like the Temple Knights’ were. As far as Thancred was aware, Ser Aymeric was trying his best to wrangle it, but he wasn’t having much luck.

“Sorry for the interruption,” the young Watch member said. He was barely an adult, with a pock-marked face and cheeks flushed from the cold, “But I have top intel, just for you, miss.”

“Miss?” Hilda repeated in open amusement. The boy must be very new, “Alright, let’s hear it then.”

“The Warrior of Light came through the gate last night,” the boy whispered to them, wrangling his hands together. Thancred almost rolled his eyes. While rare for Aza to come through the front entrance, it wasn’t unheard of. No doubt he wanted to see what the fuss was about with this immigration ‘crisis’, “But he didn’t come alone. No, he had a _girl_ with him.”

“And?” Hilda drawled, “So he’s having a bit of such and such on the side. If he’s bringin’ her to Ishgard, probs the Lord Commander is in on it.”

“No, not a _woman girl_ ,” the young boy was all but vibrating, “A _child_. A Miqo’te child! And- and, well, I didn’t see personally, but, but Sahex _said_ he saw her up close, when they walked up to House Fortemps, and she was a spittin’ image of Aza, he says, but, pale haired and-”

“Wait,” Hilda interrupted, just as Thancred straightened up out of his slump in horrified realisation, “Are you sayin’… the Warrior of Light’s brought a _bastard_ here?”

“Sahex swears on the Fury Herself that the kid looked just like him!”

Hilda’s mouth was pinched, and Thancred forced the cobwebs of his mind to mull this over. Aza was not your conventional Miqo’te, prone to sleeping with passing females of his race. In fact, Thancred had a few suspicions about how jealously he guarded his personal space, how he grew subtly nervous at unwanted sexual advances or flirting and got agitated at someone lingering too close to his back. No, Thancred was hesitant to leap upon the bastard theory. Those unused to Miqo’te tended to say they all looked similar, anyways.

“Aza is not the sort to father children due to… personal reasons,” Thancred said delicately, “I doubt the child is his.”

“Even if they’re not, everyone like Sahex will think they are,” Hilda muttered. She looked annoyed, drumming her fingers on the table as their young messenger fidgeted anxiously.

“Fuck,” Hilda finally said, “I bet Sahex told everyone who so much as listened too, yeah?”

“Yeah…” the boy drooped a bit at that, “The story’s already makin’ its circulation. Everyone who’s anyone knows about the Warrior of Light’s bastard.”

“Wonderful,” Thancred sighed. Ishgardians were terrible gossipers, having weaponised their rumour mill to the point where it could destroy a man’s reputation or marriage by several twisted retellings. Abruptly, he remembered- _Ser Aymeric_. If Aza went straight to House Fortemps and not to the Lord Commander…

He jumped to his feet, his hangover miraculously cured. He needed to find Aza quick, “Excuse me. We’ll have to reschedule our date.”

Hilda called after him in confusion, but Thancred was already away. He needed to nip this at the bud, quick.  

* * *

 

The first thing Aymeric did that morning was tackle Aza’s request: he began his quest to get Sameh’s citizenship.

This required a visit to the brand new and poorly managed Immigration Department of the Ishgardian Republic (also known as IDIR) – and to content with the man in charge, a Halonic priest by the name of Father Burix who had been handpicked by Aymeric himself for the role.

There were two reasons for this: first, to muzzle the more out-spoken, conservative members of parliament. Their entire platform was built on tradition and devotion to Halone, so to openly disparage a very well-established and widely respected Halonic priest simply because he presided over the IDIR would damage that. They could only sit there and grumble behind closed doors about it, and were forced to publicly, albeit reluctantly, endorse Father Burix’s appointment. They all hated Aymeric for it and he loved it.

Secondly: Father Burix was well-suited to the task.

Aymeric knew him, vaguely, from his younger days after the late Lord Borel took him into his home. Father Burix was a very down-to-earth man who adhered mostly to the tenants of charity and compassion of their religion, rather than the fiery, nationalistic propagandised version. He was well-known man of the Brume, and _infamously_ known for impoverishing his family’s name. He had been the last heir to an old family and had inherited all their finances and holdings… only to turn around and spend it all on firewood for those in the Brume, or importing more food, or just plain giving it away to widowers and orphaned children, etcetera, etcetera until he was as impoverished as those he helped.  

The conservative highborn disdained him for his disrespect of his family’s name, and the lowborn adored him for his genuine generosity. He was regarded as a bit of an eccentric too, but his oddities were viewed with fondness rather than disdain. He was also terrifyingly good at memorising vast amount of information at a glance and hid a shrewd mind behind the doddering old man act. So, head of the IDIR he became.

He managed the unending petitions and deluge of asylum and work visas into Ishgard, as well as the endless complaints various people flooded his office with. Last Aymeric heard, Father Burix just used the complaints as kindle for his fireplace, declaring that he will only accept criticism from a man who was willing to say it to his face under the gaze of Halone. Needless to say, no one took him up on his offer.

His office was a bit of an ordeal to reach too. Aymeric had to sidle his way through the Church – something he had an uneasy relationship with even before the Heavensward mess – duck into the labyrinthine hallways that descended beneath the building until he found the tiny box room they shoved Father Burix in with an equally tiny desk supporting a veritable mountain of paper and parchment. When Aymeric strode into his office that morning, he could barely see the old man between the cracks of the precariously piled paper towers crushing his desk.

“Oh, if it isn’t young Aymeric!” Father Burix greeted in his raspy voice when Aymeric made himself known. Despite a set of thick-lensed glasses perched on his hooked nose, he still squinted at Aymeric like he was struggling to make him out, “Goodness, I keep forgetting how tall you’ve gotten. Why, I remember when you used to trot at Lord Borel’s heels, Halone bless him, like a little puppy. So tiny and small then! The other boys used to pick on you for it, if I remember.”

Aymeric, who heard this every time he stepped into this office, politely indulged him, “I made sure to eat my vegetables, Father Burix.”

“Pah, it doesn’t do to lie,” Father Burix chided him, wagging a knobbly finger in his direction, “You used to hate your vegetables. Such a fussy eater.”

Aymeric sighed.

“But enough about the past,” Father Burix set his ink-quill down and adjusted his glasses, sitting back in his seat. He was pushing close to seventy now, and Father Burix looked every inch his years. He didn’t seem to mind, though. He was rarely seen without a smile, “Are you here to yell at me too about the ‘mob’ outside the gates? Lord Dounon was here earlier about that… started ranting about ‘human-locusts’ or some tripe like that…”

“Lord Dounon has made his displeasure clear about the influx of immigrants, yes,” Aymeric said dully. He felt a phantom headache just from hearing the man’s name.

Father Burix cackled, “He nagged your ear off too? Hrmph, that brat always was full of hot air. Well, he’ll find something else to complain about within a week, let me tell you. Probably you again.”

Aymeric frowned, curious, “Me?”

“Oh, yes, something about being a degenerate, or deviant, or something,” Father Burix waved a liver-spotted hand, “How many times has he asked if you violate the teachings of Halone by taking a Miqo’te to bed? Too many. I told him, ‘Dounon, the Fury cares not for who you bed so long as it is with love and respect’. He didn’t like that much.”

“No, I bet he didn’t…” Aymeric murmured, filing that away. Was Dounon trying to have him declared a heretic? While such accusations no longer carried hefty punishments as before, it would still be enough to irreparably damage Aymeric’s good-standing within Parliament. He couldn’t help but find it amusing. Being considered a kin-slayer and bedding a Miqo’te were all forgivable in the eyes of the public, but being a faithless heretic wasn’t.

“I even showed him the scriptures to remind him, since he doubted my memory,” Father Burix chortled, obviously amused at the thought. He could recite every variation of every scripture storied within the Church from memory, a feat that no other priest has managed to replicate. Doubting Father Burix’s memory was like doubting the sun would rise in the morn.

“But enough about that old windbag,” Father Burix coughed, “What was it you were going to complain about?”

“Nothing, Father Burix,” Aymeric said, “I’ve come to ask a favour.”

“Oh, a _favour_ , is it?” Father Burix eyed him for a moment, “Will this favour come with a donation to the Brume Foundation?”

Aymeric’s eyebrow twitched, “Are you… accepting _bribes_ for charity?”

“Halone will forgive me for reminding well-off men of their duty to those less fortunate,” Father Burix said, utterly shameless, “Though, I would think the Fury would prefer I did the reminding with a few burning lashes for some of those brats sitting up high. Oh, she is all for compassion, but no patience for selfish fools. Wise woman, that.”

“…” Aymeric sighed, “I’ll leave a donation to the Brume Foundation.”

“Oh, how kind of you, Lord Borel,” Father Burix cheered, “You always were such a nice young man. Now with that business out of the way, citizenship paperwork you said?”

“Yes,” Aymeric pushed on before he could dwell overly much on that bit of well-intentioned bribery, “I need it for a young Miqo’te child. She’s the Warrior of Light’s ward, though he’s hoping Lord Fortemps is able to foster her in the meantime due to his other… commitments.”

Father Burix peered at him over his glasses for a long moment.

“The Warrior of Light’s ward, hmm…” he mumbled, “Well, I did think it strange that a handsome young man like that didn’t father any children, what with how Miqo’te are…”

“She’s not his,” Aymeric said hastily, before Father Burix got carried away, “She’s- he is merely looking after her due to unfortunate circumstances.”

“As you say, as you say,” Father Burix clearly didn’t believe him, but he dropped that particular subject, “Well, if she’s physically in the city, I would assume the Warrior of Light would have filled in her entry form at the gate. Hmm, let’s see… where did I put those… oh, yes, I remember, they’re in that pile there.”

He pointed a bony finger at a messy, horrifically disorganised pile like someone had simply upturned multiple burlap sacks in the corner and considered a job complete. Aymeric stared at it in open dismay.

“Been meaning to sort that, but, goodness, I just look at it and pray for Halone to sort it out for me,” Father Burix chuckled at his joke, “You have a bit of a search ahead of you!”

“Yes…” Aymeric heaved a sigh. So _this_ was why there was such a backlog of work visas being released. Father Burix was just one man after all. Maybe he should send a few of the recruits down here? Yes, that sounded like a good idea, “If I find it, how long until…?”

“Oh, well, I suppose a few weeks-”

“ _Weeks_?”

“Well, of course! She’d be at the bottom of the list, after all.”

Aymeric very nearly asked him how big of a ‘donation’ he needed for _that_ to be bumped to the top instead, but Father Burix looked a bit too sly for his liking and he swallowed the question. He may use the bribes for charity, but Burix wouldn’t price this kind of corruption cheap. It was why Aymeric picked him after all – though it was backfiring on him now.

 “I see,” was all he said, turning to the pile with grim determination. The things he did for love, honestly.

“Oh, while you’re at it, can you organise that pile while you look for the girl’s form?” Father Burix asked him as he began the slow slog through the pile, “That will surely help her be processed a bit faster…”

“You’re a terrible priest,” Aymeric grumbled, but did as he was bid.

* * *

 

Aza woke up to an empty bed and an unsettled feeling in his belly.

Aymeric’s side was cold when Aza slowly rolled into it, and he squinted his eyes open to peer at the sun filtering underneath the thick curtains. The windows were tightly shut, and Aymeric had stoked a small fire in the hearth so that the room was roasting for him. Aza’s joints still ached though, a dull, insistent pain.

He didn’t want to get up.

He pulled the covers over his head a mite childishly, taking a moment to untangle the tight, nauseous feeling sitting like a lump behind his breastbone. He needed to pick up Sameh today – none of her clothes were suited for the cold weather here, and while he was sure Edmont would be more than happy to clothe her, she was Aza’s responsibility. Edmont was already fostering her, Aza could, at the very least, give her clothes.

It was just.

Aza didn’t let the thought finish. The moment he saw Sameh, he hadn’t been feeling good.

Her eyes were large and pretty, a soft amber colour that looked more like brown, with pale, steel grey hair that sat in an uneven bob. She didn’t look similar to anyone Aza had met, but still, when he looked at her, he felt… he remembered… she was the right age for his last good memories of _her_. Sounded like her. Acted a bit like her. It was disorientating. It was painful to look at. It was good too.

Gods, he was going to fuck her up, if he could _barely_ remember who she was meant to be. She’s not _her_. She’ll never be _her_.

 _I could make her be like her_ , something in him whisper, _a fresh restart_.

Aza felt disgusted, and keenly wished Aymeric was here. Or Lucia. He needed to talk about this – but he also didn’t. His head was such a mess. But he couldn’t just drop Sameh. He couldn’t – she’d feel abandoned and, no, it’d be good for her, but, the thought of hurting her also…

He sat up in a sharp movement, running his hand through his hair and forcing his thoughts to quiet. No. He’s committed now. He’ll keep going. With any luck, she’ll take a shine to Edmont and… then Aza could quietly get out of her life before he irreparably ruined it.

The idea of it hurt, but Aza hardened himself to it.

It was for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah so everyone thinks Sameh is Aza's kid now this will not go horribly wrong at all N O P E
> 
> also yes aymeric picked father burix out of spite for the immigration manager's job and he's deeply regretting it now because oh dear, he may've miscalculated here hmmmmm
> 
> Please comment/kudos if you enjoyed...!!! 
> 
> (and yes. sid and rielle will turn up at some point ; ) )


	8. Chapter 8

Sameh was having breakfast when Aza came back.

She found herself surprised and relieved in equal measure, looking up from the _mountain_ of food Edmont had his servant pile on her plate. There were eggs and sausages and muffins and bacon and all sorts of things that Sameh had only had in small quantities and never together. She only managed to get through a quarter of it before her tiny stomach was filled to bursting, and she also drank a lot of juice too, since she was terribly thirsty, so Aza interrupting was amazing. Ma always said not to waste food, but there was just… too much to finish here. She needed a moment.

Edmont, who had been quietly eating his own breakfast whilst reading over a newspaper, looked up with a smile when the steward showed Aza in. He was in his thick gambeson and scratched-up, dark breastplate as usual. Sameh wondered if he ever wore anything else.

“Aza, good morning. You’re just in time for breakfast,” Edmont greeted, “Please, join us. I’ll have a plate brought out for-”

“It’s fine,” Aza interrupted a little uncomfortably. He gave a short bow of apology – it looked weird, so stiff backed and bent right at the waist – and lingered awkwardly two seats away from Sameh. Edmont’s dining table was _long_ with so many chairs. It looked lonesome with just the two of them eating, “I… ate before coming here.”

“Hmm,” Edmont said, in that tone that Ma used when she smelled tall tales, “Tea, at least?”

“No, thank you.”

Sameh studied Aza with his weird awkwardness. He was normally so confident and rude, yet with Edmont he was oddly nervous and painfully polite. He never seemed to hold eye contact with him either. To Sameh, he looked like when she did something bad and was trying to pretend she didn’t do anything bad by looking at the ground, but that didn’t make sense, really. Aza never seemed to care what anyone else thought of him, but Edmont… hmm, why…

Aza glanced over at her and wrinkled his nose, “What? Is there something on my face?”

“Yeah,” she said, her gaze dropping down a fraction to something that _had_ caught her attention when he walked in, “You’ve got a big bruise on your neck.”

“A bru- _oh,_ ” Aza’s hand came up, his fingers touching the dark mark just peeking above the collar of his gambeson. He looked at Edmont, who was suddenly very engrossed in his newspaper, and then at her, his cheeks turning a little red, “Um.”

Sameh knew that reaction. Ma did it whenever Sameh pointed out _her_ neck bruises that ‘mysteriously’ appeared whenever she wandered off with someone that made her tail lift.

“Is that a naughty bite?” she asked.

Aza made a strangled kind of noise in the back of his throat, and Edmont hid behind his newspaper, coughing suspiciously, “A naugh- a _what_?”

“A naughty bite,” Sameh repeated patiently. Ma used to get all weird about that kind of stuff too and honestly, she didn’t get it. She knew adults did weird, gross things like biting each other and putting things in places. She woke up to Ma doing naughty things to that nice Keeper man back in Ul’dah because the noises woke her up, and personally it looked incredibly uncomfortable to do, but Ma had seemed to enjoy it, “Adults get them when they mate, right?”

Aza stared at her.

Edmont was hiding behind his newspaper.

 _Adults_.

“I’m not a baby,” Sameh said irritably, “I know about that stuff.”

“You’re ten,” Aza said blankly. For some reason he appeared upset by this. Sameh squinted at him.

“Ten’s old enough,” and, to prove her knowledge because Aza looked sort of doubtful, she continued; “I know that the boy’s thingie goes into the girl’s hole, not the poo hole, the other one, and they wriggle about for a bit until-”

“Let’s not have that kind of talk at the table,” Edmont cut in gently, lowering his newspaper, “It isn’t appropriate.”

Sameh pouted.

Aza looked extremely uncomfortable, his hand still pressed over the bruise of his neck. Sameh was certain it was a naughty bite now, and she wondered who did it. He seemed so cool and aloof, it was weird to think him doing the things Ma did with that Keeper man. He didn’t giggle or lift his tail or do the other stuff adults did when flirting, and it was easy to tell when Miqo’te flirted too. She tilted her head, scrunching her nose up trying to imagine it, and was extremely weirded out.

“Is it nice to get a naughty bite?” she asked curiously. Ma would always say she’ll know when she’s older, and that would be the end of the discussion.

“It’s… it depends,” Aza said, lowering his hand from his neck and letting his expression slowly blank into its usual unreadable mask, “You’ll know when you’re older.”

Darn it.

Disgruntled at the brush off, Sameh turned back to her breakfast. She prodded at a plump, greasy looking sausage, listening to half an ear when Aza started to talk to Edmont. He was talking about the citizenship thing, and that Aymeric was looking into it, that everything will be okay, blah blah blah. She didn’t like it when people spoke about her like she wasn’t in the room. She was here. She could hear them. She could hear them planning her life for her without _asking_ her. She wanted to come to Ishgard but…

She stabbed at the sausage with her fork, suddenly angry. She didn’t know why and that just made her more irritable. Ma always used to ask her opinion on where they went and did next…

“M’lord,” the steward was back, and Sameh for the life of her couldn’t remember his name, “A Master Thancred has arrived, requesting Lord Lynel’s presence. He said it was urgent.”

Both Edmont and Aza looked surprised. Sameh peeked at them both, curious.

“I didn’t know Thancred was in the city,” Aza mumbled, “Hm, excuse me.”

Aza walked out of the dining room, following the steward. Sameh’s ear twitched as their footsteps slowly echoed away and she glanced at Edmont, then at the plate was still too full and her lacking all appetite and said; “Um, mister Edmont, I’m full. Can I go to the bathroom?”

“Of course,” Edmont looked away from the door Aza exited, smiling, “There’s no need to ask permission.”

Sameh nodded and, squashing the guilt in her belly from leaving a near full plate, slid off her chair and left the dining room. She didn’t go to the bathroom though, even if she _was_ bursting, and instead tiptoed as quietly as she could towards the front hall, her ears alert to any noise. She heard talking, an unfamiliar man’s voice, and she crept closer and closer, until she stopped at a door slightly ajar. The front hall.

“-en he says the entire city’s heard the fact you brought a daughter to Ishgard,” said the unfamiliar voice, sounding grim.

“Are you _kidding me_?” said Aza’s voice. He sounded angry, “She’s not _mine_! She looks nothing like me!”

“Ishgardians aren’t familiar with Miqo’te. One looks the same as another to them.”

There was the stomp of heavy boots. A low, rumbling noise of an agitated Miqo’te ready to snarl, growling at a pitch too low for other races to pick up, “This isn’t good. If they think she’s mine…”

“They’ll think her an easy target to get at you,” the unfamiliar voice confirmed, “She’s a lot more vulnerable and defenceless than Aymeric.”

The stomp of boots stopped. Aza was still growling.

“Damn it,” Aza muttered, “She’s no one. She’s just a little girl.”

“The woes of fame, I’m afraid,” the unfamiliar voice said with fake lightness, “You damn passing acquaintances by association.”

Aza said nothing to that, and Sameh leaned back on her heels, her mind spinning.

The people here thought she was Aza’s _daughter_. She felt weird at the thought, even if there was a little voice in her head that said it was _possible_. Ma never said who her Da was, only that he was cowardly cur who promised her a sweet life outside of her tribe, only to abandon her when a prettier girl lifted her tail. Ma was bitter over that, Sameh knew. Ma took a chance on Da, and had Sameh even though the entire tribe told her that Sameh was… wasn’t a _real_ Seeker and couldn’t stay, and… there was a _chance_ …

Except Aza didn’t seem like the roguish, silver-tongued man from Ma’s stories. He was cold and scary but kind and dedicated. He was mixed like her, but the Seeker was too strong in him to make Sameh and his colouring was all wrong. Also, it was impossible, for Da to finally want her after deciding he didn’t want her for ten years, and _magically_ be there when Ma… when Ma…

Still, something in her said insistently, it was _possible_.

She shook her head so hard it almost hurt, trying to vanquish that confusing hope before it sunk its claws in. No. She was no one’s now. She was Ma’s and now she was alone. There was no Da and Aza wasn’t _her_ Da. She felt her eyes sting, and she angrily rubbed at them with the back of her hand, hating at herself for her stupid, brief burst of hope. Dummy. She was so dumb.

Aza and Unfamiliar Man were talking again. With a quiet sniff, she listened in again.

“-ust carry on as usual, is my advice,” said Unfamiliar Man, “Or you can take her to the Rising Stones. F’lhammin will be delighted to care for her, I’m sure.”

“She wanted to come to Ishgard.”

“Aza, she’s, what? Eight?”

“Ten.”

“Not the age for wise decisions. She may be upset, but it would be better for her to be somewhere less… politically volatile. She’ll forgive you, I’m sure.”

“Oh, yes, because Revenant’s Toll with a Garlean _Castrum_ on its doorstep is so much safer,” Aza let out a mocking laugh, tense with unhappiness, “Let’s face it, if everyone in Ishgard thinks Sameh’s my _daughter_ , then _everyone_ in all of fucking _Eorzea_ is going to learn that too, including _Garlemald_.”

“Aza…”

“No,” Aza’s voice was firm, “She’s staying here. If anyone _thinks_ of trying to use her to get to me, whether they’re those fucking separatists or traditionalists or whatever the fuck they’re calling themselves, or fucking _Garlean assassins_ , they are more than happy to _try_. I’ll kill them.”

“You can’t be here _all_ the time, Aza.”

“I’ll have my FC babysit when I’m gone. They’ve been lazy recently so guard duty will be good for them.”

“You realise this will just _confirm_ everyone’s suspicions? Even if you yell until you’re blue in the face that Sameh’s not your daughter, this- this overprotectiveness will just say otherwise. Aza-”

“I’m not abandoning her to the wolves on the off-chance that my disinterest will lessen the threat to her.”

Unfamiliar Man let out a heavy sigh, clearly giving up. Sameh was utterly lost, but she understood enough to vaguely realise that she was in danger somehow. Because of Aza? Because of who he was? Who _was_ he, in fact? Sameh felt like an idiot for only realising how weird it was, but, everyone here called him ‘Ser’ or ‘Lord’, looked at him with fear or awe or _both_ , scrambled out of his way, like he was- like he was…

“The price of being the Warrior of Light,” Unfamiliar Man muttered, “I’m sorry, Aza. You only meant to be kind, but…”

Sameh didn’t hear the rest of his sentence. She sat there, utterly dumb with shock.

The Warrior of Light.

Aza, scary, cold, intense, aloof, weird, but so painfully kind… was the Warrior of Light. The _Miqo’te_ Warrior of Light. Sameh heard the stories. She partially grew up on them, watched as Ma took heart in the stories of a _Miqo’te_ mercenary scrambling up into a position of prestige as the _Warrior of Light_. A man who stood for Light and Goodness and Honour, who fought Primals and chased away Imperials and who saved _countries_ and did lots of acts of simple kindness to anyone who asked him for help. He travelled the land, helping anyone who needed it, be they peasants, nobles or even _beastmen_. And he was a Miqo’te, a race considered flighty and unfaithful, not really warriors at all but hunters that lingered out in the wilderness like ‘savages’. That’s what they used to mutter in Ul’dah. But the Warrior of Light was _different_. He showed them that Miqo’te could be proud and good too.

And he was Aza.

 _Your Da could be the Warrior of Light_ , the dumb hopeful part of her whispered, and she angrily squashed it again. No, Aza… Aza said she wasn’t his, so she wasn’t, even if it might be to protect her… no. No, shut up. It didn’t make sense.

Sameh’s brain felt like a whirlpool full of flotsam and jetsam. She knew few things. Aza was the Warrior of Light, lots of people suddenly thought her as his daughter, _and_ she was in danger because of that, but it was okay because Aza, _the Warrior of Light_ , said he’d protect her. Wouldn’t that make her a burden though? Wasn’t the Warrior of Light meant to run around doing… Light stuff? He saved her… carried Ma even though he didn’t, even if he was cold and mean about it at the time, saying that he would’ve left her for the animals to eat, but he still carried her. He still helped her. Helping her still.

Sameh was glad she was sitting down already because she was sure she would’ve landed on her butt from the way her head was spinning. Too many things to think about.

This was how Aza found her when he walked into the hallway from the front hall. He very nearly tripped over her, with how she sat next to the door, and she stared up at Aza and a strange, tall Hyur, who stared back at her.

“…were you eavesdropping?” Aza asked her.

“Yes,” Sameh admitted, too stunned to lie, “You’re the Warrior of Light.”

Unfamiliar Man gave Aza very unimpressed look, “You didn’t tell her who you were?”

“It… didn’t come up,” Aza said uncomfortably, his tail swishing agitatedly, “I’m used to people recognising me on sight now, honestly.”

“Ma admired you,” she blurted out, and then words just tumbled out her as she continued, “She was- she was glad that, that there was a Miqo’te warrior people took seriously and, and she always wanted to, to be the same, a-and, and that’s why she- she stayed as a mercenary even though lots of creepy men said she should do dancing, but she wanted- wanted to fight like you, and- and get strong like that, s-so that’s, that- that’s why, why M-Ma came… c-came h-here to- to-“

She couldn’t finish. For reasons unknown even to her, she started blubbering halfway through and then she was outright bawling, hiccupping over her words until it was all just an incoherent sobbing. It was too much. Ma’s hero – _her hero_ – here, not what she expected or thought, and, Ma never seeing what he was like, and maybe thinking _this is Da_ but knowing _it’s not_ , even though everyone _said he was_ and the vague, distant alarm that she was in danger somehow but not sure how and she didn’t know how to feel and all those bad, angry feelings from last night and this morning just popped like a dirty bubble and she felt _sad_ and _terrified_ instead and she didn’t get it but she couldn’t stop _crying_ -

“Oh fuck, shit, what did I do?” Aza was kneeling next to her, fluttering his hands in a comical show of uncertain panic, “Thancred, what did I do? What _do_ I do? Oh, shh, Sameh, shh, please stop crying, um, I’m sorry, I- is it my fault, your Ma di-”

“Uh, I only know how to tend to crying _women_ , but even I know that’s a silly thing to say, Aza,” Unfamiliar Man – Thancred – interrupted. He knelt too next to her. He was bigger than both her and Aza, but even with a really scruffy face and a bandage making him look sketchy, his smile was kind and his voice equally so, “Sameh, what’s wrong? Are you sad?” 

Only one thought sprung to mind then. Sitting here, with the Warrior of Light who might be Da but was probably not, and a strange man, in a strange fancy house in a cold, unfamiliar place, Sameh only knew one thing for certain and that was-

 _“I-I… I miss Ma!”_ she wailed, even though Ma’s sword was sitting on her back. Its weight felt heavy and uncomfortable instead of reassuring, and her stomach hurt so much she thought she was going to be sick. Ma would know what to do in this situation. Ma would- Ma was _familiar_ and she’d hug her and she missed her scent and the way her solid arms felt when she squeezed her, and threw her up in the air and- it hurt too much to remember that. She made a low, keening noise in the back of her throat, curling up tight and hiding her tear-damp face behind her hands.

Aza and Thancred were awkwardly quiet.

“Um,” Aza tried. He shifted awkwardly, and then reached out. He delicately patted her head like she was a very dangerous dog about to bite his hand, “You- you can, um, do you want to hold my hand? You can, uh, shit, um… Thancred, _help_.”

“I don’t think there are any words that can make her feel better,” Thancred said a mite dryly.

“What is happening here?”

Edmont’s voice drifted over, and Sameh wrestled with the near-painful sobs ripping themselves out of her throat. Thancred and Aza all started talking quickly, almost over each other, and she struggled to take even, deep breaths, her ribs aching like there was something squishing her tight. She clumsy wiped at her eyes with the back of her hands, horribly aware that she was all snotty and splotchy-faced from crying, and felt gross and embarrassed and – she just bawled like a baby in front of the _Warrior of Light_ and-

“Sameh,” Edmont spoke to her gently. She looked up with red-rimmed, teary eyes, and he painfully knelt, even though he had a bad leg, and held out a white cloth to her, “Here. Cry into this, dear. Handkerchiefs make tears a lot more comfortable.”

Sameh took the cloth with shaking fingers and wiped at her nose, hiccupping over her breaths. She still felt like she was going to burst into tears, but she could swallow it down – painfully – now, and she remembered Aza saying – she thrust out her hand, making Aza jump.

“I-I wan- wanna hold hands,” she said, her voice wobbling everywhere, and even though her hand was wet and kind of snotty, Aza took it without hesitating. His large hand enclosed around hers, and the smooth feel of warm leather was oddly comforting. Those hands protected her. They gave her rough ear-rubs that hurt. They held her hand. She trusted them, even if her heart was confused and pained over _who_ they belonged to.

The adults all spoke to each other again, but Sameh just focused on Aza’s hand. His grip was firm. Her fingers were kind of squished, but it didn’t hurt. Just made them start to go numb from the pressure. Slowly, she felt like she could breathe again. She still felt… all bruised inside. It was a horrible feeling. Aza said she’d feel this forever – but it’d dull. He said that too. She hoped it’d dull soon.

“Sameh,” Aza was suddenly speaking to her. She listlessly focused on him, “Are you tired? Do you want to go to sleep? We can go to your room if you want.”

Sameh thought about the big room with its dark shadows and those horrible dreams of pink-blue snakes and Aza chopping up enemies and shivered right down to her tail.

“No,” she rasped, her throat hurting, “I don’t want to sleep.”

Aza studied her with a knowing look. His eyes were kind of like hers, she thought distantly. They were bright, vivid gold with slit pupils, but her eyes were just a bit darker, and the shape was the same as hers, with the same thick, dark eyelashes. They were almost similar. _He could still be Da, maybe_ , that something in her whispered desperately.

The hallway felt claustrophobic, suddenly. Her and Ma rarely stayed in buildings. They slept rough, most of the time, or with their cart out in the streets, “I wanna go outside,” she said.

Aza blew out a short breath, exchanged looks with Thancred and Edmont, “…okay,” he said, “Okay, sure. We’ll… I need to get you clothes, anyway.”

“I have clothes,” Sameh said, faintly confused.

“For the warm climate of Ul’dah, sure,” Aza said wryly, “Not for here. Unless you want to lose that tail to frostbite.”

Sameh didn’t know what frostbite was, but it didn’t sound nice. She also found herself too exhausted to really argue, so she just nodded and let Aza coax her to her feet. Everything passed by her in a haze. The adults talked again. Sameh stood there, holding Edmont’s handkerchief, now all dirty and damp, and tried very carefully not to think or hope too much.

But deep in her heart, that dumb, persistent whisper kept saying, _he could be Da_.

* * *

 

After an hour and a half of backbreaking work and reading some of the most horrendous handwriting known to man, Aymeric emerged from the half-organised pile brandishing Sameh’s paperwork like it was a banner of victory.

“Found it!” he gasped, almost blurting a prayer to Halone while he was at it. The paper was a little creased, but SAMEH was scrawled in big block capitals. It was too neat and well-written to be Aza’s work, so he must’ve had Sameh herself do it for her. Aza must’ve burned at having a ten year old child best him at writing.

“What’s that?” Father Burix asked, lifting his head from the papers on his desk and cupping a hand around his ear, “You found it? Found what?”

“Sameh’s paperwork,” Aymeric pushed himself off the floor, carefully stepped around the organised piles he’d built up, and slapped it down on the desk before the priest, “Hopefully, everything is in ord-”

“He filled it out wrong,” Father Burix said immediately, skimming the page almost instantly.

There was a very… tense pause.

“…how so,” Aymeric asked mildly.

“For one, reason for entry,” Father Burix jabbed a bony finger at the offending box, “’I want to live here’, is not a valid reason, unfortunately. If it was, why, no point having a guard on the gate, eh? Also, for valid tradeskills; ‘I can learn stuff I need to’, isn’t valid either. Why, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say the child wrote it herself! Which is illegal, you know. It must be filled out by the guardian.”

Aymeric didn’t say anything for a long moment.

“Of course, this form isn’t needed if we have her placed on a _familial_ visa,” Father Burix said after a weighty pause. He scratched at his stubbly, white beard, looking innocent, “If, say, she had a relation to an Ishgardian citizen already…”

“She obviously doesn’t,” Aymeric said irritably.

“Why, we have a Miqo’te citizen in Ishgard. Who’ll even check if they’re tied by blood or not?”

Aymeric paused, squinting at Father Burix. He… didn’t know what this mad priest was even trying to do. Falsifying documents to have Sameh accepted as a blood relation to Aza was… a slippery slope. It was different to just bumping her paperwork up in priority. It also didn’t make sense. Falsifying her petition because the original form was incorrect… either way, the result was the same. It made Aymeric’s sorting entirely… pointless… oh, that sly, little-

“You were planning this from the start, weren’t you?” Aymeric said, scowling when he realised that Father Burix had tricked him to organise his paperwork for him. Pray until Halone sorted it for him indeed, “You had no intention to use the entry paperwork.”

“Pah, I’m no fool,” Father Burix sniffed, “No matter what magic I pull, someone will question an unskilled Miqo’te child being granted a visa with nary an explanation. They’ll cry foul even with you throwing your support behind it. Patronage! They’ll shout. Favouritism! No, this is easier, quicker… _safer_. They take one look at who her father is, and they’ll leave her alone.”

Or see her as a valuable piece of leverage, Aymeric thought darkly. This wasn’t even getting into how Aza would feel about it. His partner almost fell to pieces at the fear of failing to raise her right as a distant guardian. To be slapped with title of ‘Father’, when he clearly wasn’t emotionally ready for it… it was a recipe for disaster.

“Congratulations,” Father Burix wheezed out a laugh, brushing aside Sameh’s incorrect paperwork and revealing what he had underneath. A pale white form, crisp, with Aymeric’s full name on one side, and Aza’s full name on the other, revealed only when Aza went through his own citizenship rigmarole almost eight months ago: _Azeyma’a Iriq Lynel_. There was a blank spot underneath that said DEPENDENT(S)/RELATION(S) NAME.

In neat, clear writing, Father Burix put down _Sameh de Borel-Lynel._

“You have a girl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, when Aymeric learned that Aza was actually a nickname and not his REAL NAME he spent about two days randomly blurting out "I can't believe you're called Azeyma". They've been together for over a year and Aza never even mentioned that his name was shorthand what??? he tries calling him Azeyma one and Aza throws a pillow at him so they both pretend that that name doesn't exist. 
> 
> FUNFACT TIME: Aza hates his full name because he finds it embarrassing to be named so brazenly after one of the Twelve, also painful memories of his mother, so he initially went by Aza'a, but that was quickly corrupted into Aza after so many years with Kuganites and Steppe people, and after 20 years? He forgets half the time that he's an 'a. He meant it when he says he hasn't been a Miqo'te in twenty years lol
> 
> SO YUP. THERE YOU GO. YOU ALL KNOW HIS FULL NAME NOW. Now you'll never see it again.
> 
> Also yeah, this is the direction I'm going. We'll see how it goes (Aza is gonna freak out. Aymeric is going to contemplate moving to another country to avoid this drama. Father Burix is L I V I N G.) 
> 
> Please kudos/comment if you enjoyed <3


	9. Chapter 9

Kihja looked up at her store and smiled proudly.

It wasn’t an impressive thing, admittedly – a squat, dark-grey building built out of blocky stone, narrowed and cramped between its equally grey and dull looking neighbours. A wooden eave jutted out over the door, a cobbled together gutter make out of thin tin that was already rusted through clumsily nailed to the edge, so the run off snow wouldn’t form dangerous icicles in the morning. Kihja made a mental note to build a _better_ eave with a better gutter, though she knew it would take some experimentation.

A sharp wind blustered up the narrow street, and she rammed her hands into the pockets of her blacksmithing apron, running a critical eye over the shop front. The stone step had a large chunk taken out of it, so she’ll need to replace that too, and the wooden door was warped near the bottom, slanting downwards so she had to kick it open in the morning – or ram it with her shoulder, when the lock froze. She’ll need to build a rapport with the Ishgardians quick to learn the tricks of dealing with the cold here, because she had no idea how to stop the frost-lock problem, except to douse it in oil or salt every morning.

Her nose twitched when the smell of cooking batter was carried on the wind, and she turned to see two shops down, old Zirnfhis had his battered metal stove already erected outside of his building. He was a burly, grizzled old Roedagyn that supposedly served on a privateering (legal-pirate) vessel. He sailed the Ruby Sea often, harassing Garleans there, and had picked up a few foreign recepies while he was there. He made some weird, Hingan food that was absolutely _divine_ , and Kihja felt her mouth water as the smell of batter kept drifting up to her shop.

It was good. Zirnfhis lured in customers with their food, who will then, hopefully, wander past her shop where she could poach them.

Everyone seemed to doubt what business she could get here, though. Kihja ducked her head as she entered her shop, almost slipping on the broken step, and kicked the door shut behind her. Inside was dark, the oil lamp hanging from the ceiling giving a soft, muted light. The walls were roughhewn stone with only one door leading to the rear of her ‘shop’, and a set of stairs near the corner that were so steep they were more like a ladder. It was just as chilly in here as it was outside, but Kihja knew that would change soon.

For this was going to be the best armoury in ‘Etranger Alley’, as the locals _fondly_ called this street of foreign merchants. This was Kihja flying the nest, leaving Limsa Lominsa behind to pursue her craft outside of the confines of the Armoury Guild. It had been difficult – Ishgardian smithing was near legendary, and she was eager to learn how they crafted such lightweight armour without sacrificing its durability – but Kihja had banged out enough teapots and skillets to arm an army of culinarians to pay her way to Ishgard. She had to squat outside the gates for a good month too before her work visa was approved too, but she did it. She made it, after all the others at the guild told her that Ishgard wouldn’t accept a journeyman armourer. Well, she showed them!

She prowled the perimeter of her shop – she unloaded everything over the course of the week, so her best work was on display. Armour mounted on wooden manikins (that ate up the last of her gil, but presentation was key!), polished to a shine and crafted to the best of her ability. She also doubled as a weaver and leatherworker, and she identified that Ishgardian armour was curiously lacking in proper insulation underneath that steel. She planned to sidle into a niche there.

Ishgard had spent so long being isolated and doing its own thing, that its development – both in armour and in their culture – was stagnant and unchanged. So, Kihja was going to take advantage of that. She was going to show them what armour Eorzea had – Limsa Lominsa had been good in that respect, showing her the different styles from those that stumbled into port, clanking in armour from far away lands that were crafted for them… or plundered. Kihja felt a pang of homesickness, missing the smell of brine and soot and ale – she shook her head to dispel it.

She was sure the soldiers would be eager to have insulated armour. She could manage it. Merging her multiple disciplines to create the perfect winter wear armour…

Letting schematics and ideas fill her head as she cleaned up her shop and fired up the forge, Kihja got ready for the day. The shop warmed slowly but surely as the forge did, she swept the dust off her squat, wooden counter, brushed the floor and made sure the somewhat ratty carpet was dead centre of the room, made sure her armours and clothes and coats were set _perfectly_ and opened her door, propping it open with a rock in the hinge.

Zirnfhis shop already had a crowd of people in front – other merchants in Etranger Alley, gathering to try the weird but delicious Hingan foods the old Sea Wolf made. Kihja watched them, picking out Wise Tree, the carpenter from Gridania, Petra the stonemason from Ala Mhigo, Selwyn the Ul’dahn cloth trader… plenty of other unfamiliar faces who had arrived over the past few days, plenty of others missing when their ventures didn’t pan out and they were forced to leave when they couldn’t pay the visa tax. Ishgard were strict on who stayed. If you weren’t contributing to Ishgard, then you didn’t deserve to be here, was their reasoning. Harsh, but Ishgard never cared about being kind.

Kihja looked up at the dull, steel grey sky above, watching the snow gently drift down. Ishgard held its own beauty, though, despite the harshness. When she walked along the Steps of Faith, saw that towering city, crouched amongst the clouds like a floating castle, grey and cold but strong, she could see how it survived a thousand years against an army of dragons. Only problem is it made the people aloof and cold, but they weren’t as bad as the belligerent pirates of Limsa Lominsa. She could deal.

She popped back into her shop, feeling nervous. She didn’t dare stay in the rear of the shop, working on products in case she missed someone coming in. When she got enough money, she could hire someone to man the front, and she could craft. But morning crept by, and while plenty of people passed by her shop, no one came in. She tried not to feel disheartened, her stomach grumbling – she really should’ve grabbed some food from Zirnfhis – and slipped into the rear room to stoke the forge. The chill was creeping back in.

Of course, with how her luck was, that was when her first customer visited.

 

* * *

 

Etranger Alley was like a weird frozen version of Ul’dah’s markets.

It was all dark-grey stone instead of pale yellow, and the frozen floor underneath Sameh’s soft boots crunched from ground up gravel. Aza said it was to stop ice from forming, since they mixed the gravel with salt, but it felt weird on Sameh’s feet. Her boots were made for walking on loose Thanalan sand, so the gravelly, frozen stones of Etranger Alley made her toes numb and her heels hurt.

The Alley drew her attention too much for her to think too much about it though. It was so bright and loud and interesting, with people all over Eorzea hawking their wares. There was a carpenter, an Ul’dahn merchant with bright, colourful silks and cloths, a butcher and a large Roedagyn with a clanky metal stove, cooking something weird smelling, and…

Aza’s eyes were skimming the signs hammered over doors, or hanging from eaves, clearly looking for something specific. It was two doors down from metal stove man that he made a small ‘hm’ noise.

“Armourer, Clothier and Leatherworker,” Aza murmured, “That’s a good sign.”

Sameh tilted her head, wondering if he meant the actual _physical_ sign. It wasn’t all that good. It was rough, splotchy wood with carved lettering, hanging from the eave with rusty metal hammered to it. She gave Aza a doubtful look, but he wasn’t looking at her, and gave her hand a gentle pull as he led them inside.

The shop was hot and smelled faintly of coal, and Sameh curled her toes when a needle-like pain flooded them from the change in temperature. The inside of the shop was crowded with all kinds of things – armour, jerkins, gambesons, gloves, clothes, and Aza let go of her hand and gave her shoulder a nudge, a silent approval to go explore.

Sameh instantly wandered off.

Aza yelled for the shopkeeper, and someone – woman – replied in a flustered tone, but Sameh didn’t care about that. She wandered over to where a brightly polished set of armour sat on a wooden manikin. It was all straight, sharp lines, with a helmet that had great, sweeping horns like the Billy Goats outside Camp Drybone. The surface was a pale silver, and she curiously touched it, leaving smudges as she felt the smooth, slightly warm metal. Ma never wore anything this heavy. She wore leather armour with just a metal breastplate because full armour was so expensive. Most of their money went to food, or to travel, but mostly food. Ul’dah was a very expensive place to live.

Movement drew Sameh’s attention, and a Keeper Miqo’te woman stumbled through the doorway smelling of soot. She was broad-shouldered and had bulky bicep, clad in a form-fitting leather tunic. She wore a heavy, black apron, and her black hair was tied back in a messy bun that had strands exploding everywhere, with it threatening to spill out of its tie.

“I’m sorry for the wait!” the Miqo’te huffed, wiping sweat from her brow with her thickly gloved hand, “I was firing up the… the forge…”

The woman trailed off as she stared at Aza, who was looking back at her with his usual blank, unreadable expression. The woman’s bright purple eyes went wide, her mouth dropping open in utter shock as she pointed right at Aza.

“The Light! I-I mean- Warrior! Warrior of Light! In my shop! My first customer!” she suddenly became aware of how messy she looked, because she frantically threw off her thick gloves and tried fixing her messy bun, her face rapidly turning a bright shade of red, “Oh, I’m so sorry! I’m a mess, I- my shop’s only been unpacked, I’m- uh, oh, I’m leaving such a bad impression!”

Aza just blinked.

But Sameh was getting good at reading his expressions now, and she could tell he was quietly bewildered at the woman’s panicked flailing. Sameh found it a little funny, honestly, biting her bottom lip to hold back a giggle when the woman got her fingers stuck in her tie and spent a comical minute fighting with her own hair. But the woman freed herself, her dark hair spilling like a silky wave down her shoulders, and she blushed right to her ears as she tied it back into a loose ponytail.

“S-Sorry about that…” the woman mumbled, clearing her throat and planting her hands on her hips. She took a fortifying breath, her face still a little red as she tried again, “Wel- Welcome to my humble shop, Warrior of Light! I’m Kihja, the owner of this jack-of-all trade shops! I take commissions in armour and clothes and can even do repairs. I even combine my multiple disciplines to make a special winter wear armour, insulated against the cold without having to sacrifice protection!”

“Impressive,” Aza said, clearly relieved that the flailing was over. His intense gaze swept over the gathered armour and clothes on display, and Kihja’s tail twitched nervously, “Your work has quality.”

Kihja looked starstruck, “Th… thank you…”

“Sameh,” Aza said abruptly, turning to look at her. He snapped his fingers like she was a dog, “Come here.”

Sameh slinked over, and Kihja startled. The moment she stepped next to Aza, his large, gloved hand settled atop her head protectively. She almost ducked under its weight, and she peeked up at Kihja from beneath her eyelashes. The lady looked between her and Aza, her mouth open in a little ‘o’ of realisation and… disappointment? She did look weirdly disappointed.

“I need some clothes for Sameh here,” Aza said, “Warm ones, obviously. Do you do kid sizes?”

“I can,” Kihja said, wiping her hands down her apron in what looked like a nervous habit, “They’ll be made from scratch though, so depending on how many…”

“A whole wardrobe,” Sameh could hear the smile in Aza’s voice, and Kihja went red all over again, “Coats, trousers, tunics, boots, gloves and scarves, if you do those. You do patterns too?”

Kihja looked wrong-footed, or maybe overwhelmed, “Y-Yes… well, simple ones. I’m for functionality, so, um…” she trailed off awkwardly.

“That’s fine. Simple’s good,” Aza’s hand shifted to the nape of Sameh’s neck, “Sameh, you see any designs you like?”

“Um,” Sameh hadn’t really looked at the clothes, too interested in the armour, “I think I need to look.”

“Then let’s go on a tour,” Kihja said, quickly regaining her momentum, “C’mere, sweetie, let’s have a look together, okay?”

Kihja was quite nice, Sameh decided, obediently trotting over to her under Aza’s watchful stare. He didn’t move from his position near the door. He just stood there, quiet and intense, watching as Kihja took her to the shelves with all her crafted clothing, his stare a burning weight on Sameh’s neck. She noticed that a lot, when they went outside after her stupid crying fit. He never let her out of his sight once, like he was worried someone would snatch her away the moment he turned his back.

Like he was an overprotective father.

Sameh’s heart thudded painfully, trying to focus on the designs Kihja was showing her instead of that confusing mess. They really were simple – kind of like Ma’s. She did stuff like stripes, or just trims, or things like that, and Sameh found herself missing her all over again. Most of the clothes Ma made for her were ruined when they got them back from the Bad Men. Not all of them, but enough for Sameh to feel awful about having them thrown away.

They walked a bit further into the shop, into the far corner. Aza still hadn’t moved from the door.

“Are you his daughter?” Kihja whispered to her as she held up a dark green tunic with a nice flower pattern trailing over its left breast, “I’m sorry for asking, but, I never knew the Warrior of Light had…”

Sameh looked at the tunic, suddenly feeling weirdly hot but with cold sweat. It took her a long moment to get her voice to work.

“…yeah,” she said, because that Thancred man said everyone thought that already, and Aza said he wasn’t going to deny it. Or something. She honestly didn’t follow that conversation much and, she really wanted… it was scary to think herself alone now, with Ma gone, and, and he _could_ be Da. He was old enough, she thinks, and, and was mixed like her, so the Keeper side could’ve been passed to her, right? Their eyes looked similar and, she was a little tanned like him, and… maybe…

It would explain it, right? Ma said Men didn’t help for no reason, and Aza admitted as much back in Camp Dragonhead. He didn’t want anything from her, didn’t take anything from her, so the only thing he could want… he _could_ be… could he…?

“I can’t believe my first customer is the Warrior of Light and his kid,” Kihja squealed softly, “Oh, the Armoury Guild can _suck it_. Hah!”

Sameh looked at her, bemused, but Kihja picked up another tunic, this one with a bright sun patterned on it, “How about this, sweetie?”

“I like the flower one.”

“Good choice! Okay, so, the colours…”

Aza hadn’t moved once by the time they were done. After Sameh picked out the patterns she liked best, Kihja did her measurements. Aza only permitted Kihja to do this under his watch, and his gaze was terrifyingly intense when Kihja measured the inside of her leg, her waist, and her chest, like he was expecting something else to happen. Kihja sweated nervously all the while, and even Sameh couldn’t help but fidget. It felt like having a big, angry guard dog with its fangs bared breathing down your neck.

“Overprotective, isn’t he?” Kihja mumbled under her breath, too quiet for Aza to hear, but close enough for Sameh, “Twelve help him when you’re old enough for boys.”

Sameh cocked her head, confused, but Kihja didn’t elaborate.

Then there was a lot of boring talk about price. Kihja just about staggered when Aza said a number – it sounded big, but Kihja looked like she was going to faint in the spot, and then Aza pulled out pouches of gil _out of nowhere_ , and Kihja really did sit down, right there on the floor, gaping.

They left her like that, because Aza didn’t know how to say goodbye, apparently.

Stepping out into the street was almost painful, after staying so long in Kihja’s warm shop. The wind was sharp and blustery, and Sameh tried to curl up as much as she could into her coat, trembling to the very tip of her tail. The stone floor of the street just sucked all the warmth out of her toes, and she felt tears sting her eyes from it. Ishgard really was _too cold_ , and it was meant to get _worse_ too, apparently!

As they walked down the street, Aza noticed her trying to hop along, trying not to touch the floor while walking. It was… hard.

“Sameh?” Aza sounded amused, “What’re you doing?”

“My feet hurt,” Sameh sniffled, her nose feeling all stuffy too. Everything was cold and ached. The snow bit her cheeks, her fingers tingled like needles, her feet hurt, her toes were numb. She suddenly hated Ishgard. This place was too cold. Too awful. She ached for the warm sands of Thanalan, “It’s t-too cold…”

“Oh,” Aza’s amusement drained right out of him, and there was a slight awkward pause, before he went, “Oh, Sameh, I’m an idiot. I’ll carry you, c’mere.”

Sameh squeaked when Aza suddenly picked her up, just like Ma would do. He rested her on his hip, an arm under her bum to keep her steady, and she quickly wrapped her arms around his neck. His breastplate dug weirdly against her ribs, but she pressed her knees against him and tucked her feet as close as possible against his body, clinging to him to soak up the warmth he was giving off – and he gave off a _lot_. It was like- like the _aether_ around him was thrumming with heat.

“Better?” he asked her, and like this she could see his face. The tip of his nose was pink, and his cheeks were flushed from cold, but he was smiling. It made him look very pretty.

“My toes are still cold,” she mumbled, but she did feel better. She wriggled them, trying to get feeling back into them, “And my tail hurts.”

“Hmm, yeah, you need your winter coat to grow in,” Aza said, and his free hand grasped the foot that was pressing against his belly. His large, gloved hand covered almost all of it, and its warmth seeped through the soft leather of her boots, and he rubbed it gently, getting blood flow back in there, “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

Just like she was meant to get used to missing Ma? Sameh doubted that, “I hate it.”

“I told you Ishgard would be hard,” Aza said wryly, “Prepare to hate it a lot in the coming days.”

That wasn’t comforting at all. Sameh sniffled, this time not from cold, but she was sick of crying, so she tucked her head underneath Aza’s chin and pretended it was Ma carrying her. He didn’t smell like her though. There was metal, and oil, and something sharp and spicy, like cinnamon, with an undercurrent of faint sweat. Not Ma’s smell.

Da’s smell, she told herself, because that comforted her enough to dislodge the lump in her throat. Even if it was fake. She still thought that. _Da’s smell_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i did just spend half a chapter on a random OC SUE ME I LOVE OCS. also i love worldbuilding. I don't get why we get 'rebuild doman enclave' quests but not rebuild ishgard quests. I mean everytime i go there it's still smashed to shit and with beggars out on the street in the Brume like pls... pls give us more ishgard quests that let me see Aymeric or see the republic doing good... pls im begging you square...
> 
> Please kudos/comment if you enjoyed!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Sid groaned as he sank into his usual chair at the Forgotten Knight, exhausted beyond belief.

Never had it been such an _ordeal_ to get through the damn gates of Ishgard. Sid, technically speaking, wasn’t a citizen, but he normally managed to piggy-back off Rielle’s papers to slip inside – so long as he did it through Knight Foiwaurt’s guard times. That greedy shit let them pass by with a handful of gil on most days and turned a blind eye to Sid’s comings and goings. Those days were long gone.

“It’s getting worse, isn’t it?” Rielle asked him, looking just as drained as him. They had stood in the snow for hours just to get through the gates, and then another hour arguing with the knight on duty to get Sid in, “The guards?”

“Hmmm…” Sid crossed his arms over his chest, letting his gaze drift over the tavern. There were a mix of locals and foreigners alike, and the mood was a little tense. Gribillont must be starting to get grey hairs, “Can’t blame them, with how many are pouring into this place.”

The Lord Commander had his heart in the right place when he managed to push through the Immigration Act, but the execution of it had been a mess from the very start. During their horrible four hours standing in the snow, Sid had heard all about the failings of it from equally annoyed travellers standing in line and from the knights keeping order to said line. The mood out there was ugly enough to warrant a few swords to keep a few unruly people in line, and what Sid learned made him deeply uneasy.

The story was thus: upon the gates of Ishgard being open to all and sundry who passed its rigorous visa applications the entire thing was doomed from the start. Firstly, the visa applications were confusing to fill out and were heavily delayed in being processed (“like they’re being done by one man in a cellar somewhere,” scoffed a particularly prickly Lalafell Sid had been itching to punt off the Steps of Faith after the first hour). Then, to make a shaky start even _shakier_ , a visa tax was introduced via an emergency session by the House of Lords, where foreign workers had to hand over 40% of their earnings per month to justify their place – quickly dropped to 25% when the mood turned ugly enough that a riot outside the gates and within Ishgard itself almost broke out in protest of the harsh taxation.

Then the “inspections” started, with Temple Knights barging into the foreign workers’ stores or tearing through their stalls, accusing them of imaginary offences and placing extortionate fines for violating the draconian Foreign Merchant Laws. _That_ made the Lord Commander finally wade into the mess, and after a slew of investigations, a few knights being imprisoned for corruption, and a Lord who committed suicide by jumping off the top of the Holy See under mysterious circumstances, the entire situation was stewing in the shit it was in now: high taxation on foreigners, slow visa processing and strict, easily broken laws that carried criminally high fines.

It was, in short, a mummer’s farce.

Sid didn’t really care about politics, but even he couldn’t help but watch the trash-fire unfolding within the Republic. It was the Lord Commander and a small party of loyalists fighting against Lord Dounon and his ilk, egged on by the fence sitters who didn’t care what happened so long as they kept their seats. Both parties were drawing blood, and while the House of Commons were relatively untouched by the petty insanity, their effectiveness was reduced when they couldn’t even get the _chance_ to pass legislation when the House of Lords was too busy ripping itself apart from the inside to agree on _anything_.

This wasn’t even getting into the proposed elections that were meant to kick off before the heavy winter set in either. Sid wouldn’t be surprised if the entire thing collapsed with everyone accusing each other of corruption or straight up cheating. Then after that… the Republic’s supposed bright future was looking bleak indeed.   

“You’re scowling,” Rielle commented, breaking Sid out of his brooding thoughts.

“This is my normal face,” Sid grunted, glancing over at her. Since he picked her up almost two years ago, Rielle had gotten taller… in the gangly, awkward way that budding maidens were. It was difficult to remember her as the meek, frightened little girl he and Fray had rescued… she still couldn’t swing a sword for shit, though. He tried his hand in teaching her the beginnings of swordplay and it was a miracle she didn’t chop her own Godsdamned hand off. Rielle was not made for lumbering around heavy steel, enacting merciless justice on the scum of the land. She wanted to mend, to heal, to _fix_ , and Conjury was what held her happiness, with its lightweight cane and delicate magic.

But that was fine. Sid was more than enough to protect her for now.

“You’re getting a wrinkle,” Rielle said, a mite impishly, and pressed a finger between her eyebrows, “Right here. That’s your brooding frown face… or your ‘I’m in need of a privy’ face.”

Sid tisked, but didn’t counter her. Rielle was getting very cheeky the older she got, but he didn’t mind it, “Are you naming my faces now?”

“I have a list,” Rielle admitted, leaning on the table with crossed arms, and he felt her foot brush against his leg when she stretched them out and crossed them neatly at the ankle, “A lot of them are frowns.”

“There’s a lot to frown about, nowadays,” Sid muttered, “Ishgard, for one.”

Rielle sobered, dropping her gaze for a moment, “Things do feel very tense here.”

“It might turn out fine though,” Sid said, though he didn’t believe it, “The Lord Commander isn’t a complete idiot.”

Rielle tutted, “I think he’s trying his best. Aza says so.”

“Aza also says he’s the smartest, most handsome and beautiful and kindest man he ever met,” Sid said flatly, feeling himself cringing just verbalising that. Aza in love was a terrible, awful thing that shouldn’t be inflicted on any mortal man, “He’s biased.”

Rielle hesitated at that, “Well, perhaps a little…”

“ _A little_ ,” Sid let out a low, mocking laugh at that understatement.

Rielle made a face at him, “I think it’s sweet,” she declared abruptly, “How much he loves him. Maybe that’s why he has a stronger connection to the Abyss. The Moogles did say it was love that gave you power.”

Sid shuddered at the mention of those _demonic furballs_ , feeling his eyelid twitch, “I still call bullshit on that.”

Rielle’s frown threatened to twitch into a smile at Sid’s open distaste, “…I think you’re jealous.”

Sid levelled a flat, unimpressed look at her.

Annoyingly, Rielle was immune to his glowers at this point, and she leaned back in her seat, openly smiling now, “Mmhm, the more I think on it, the more likely it is.”

“What am I jealous of, Rielle,” Sid asked with no inflection in his voice.

“The Lord Commander,” Rielle said lightly, “I’ve seen how you look at Aza. You stare at him _very_ intently, _especially_ after you both spar, with-”

“ _Respect_ ,” Sid growled, annoyed when he found himself feeling alarmingly hot about the collar, “I look at him with _respect_.”

“Mhm,” Rielle sounded very doubtful, grinning at him.

Sid ground his teeth, and, because he was the adult and therefore, mature, shifted his body away from her and glared across the tavern, not deigning her with a response. Rielle giggled at him.

Little brat.

 

* * *

 

Despite Rielle’s teasing the morning passed comfortably.

People came and went from the tavern, local and foreign. Sid inquired about a room when Gribillont made his rounds and was told that every inn room was full up. It looked as if it was going to be a night of sleeping at the table, which wasn’t ideal after travelling all the way from Gridania. Still, Sid would take the neck pain of sleeping in a chair over shivering out in the frozen streets of the Brume. He couldn’t complain over small mercies.

It was when the clock was ticking close to mid-morning that Sid heard something… queer.

There were a group of City Watchmen, fresh off duty judging by their snow-stained cloaks and drooping eyes. All three of them huddled around the table next to his, sipping spiced wine to warm their limbs up from a slog of a night-shift. The City Watch were pulling extra duties from what he heard, to support the already strained Temple Knights in their duties to keep the peace, motivated only by a paltry rise in their wages.  

“I tells ye, I saw ‘er,” a craggy-faced Watchman slurred, already deep into his drinks, “She looked jus’ like ‘im, I tells ye. Tail, ears, them weird eyes…”

“Oh c’mon, all Cats are like that!” a younger Watchman laughed. He seemed the drunkest one, his voice obnoxiously loud and making Sid’s eye twitch, “He might’ve jus’ picked some random kitten off th’ roadside. You know what they say about them Cats – they get all in a heat whenever they see a female of their race an’ steal them away for their harems.”

“They’re lusty not _deviants_ ,” The third Watchman snapped, a burly looking woman who looked like she had some Roedagyn blood in her family tree somewhere. Unlike her companions she was sober and looked absolutely mortified at the young man’s words, “And this is the Slayer of Nidhogg you’re insulting. Have some respect.”

“Oh, pfft,” the young man tittered, “I respect ‘im for savin’ us, yeah! But a Cat’s still a Cat. D’ya hear what they say about ‘em? These foreigners?”

“Don’t go listening to their tales, now,” the woman warned, “They’ll fill your head with nonsense.”

“S’true,” the craggy-faced Watchman slurred, “If ye believe these foreigners, then all Cats are whores, th’ menfolk an’ th’ womenfolk. From what I’ve seen, th’ Warrior of Light is as loyal as anythin’. Devoted an’ true to th’ Lord Commander, ‘e is.”

“Not from what _you’re_ sayin’,” the young one countered, “He’s got a kid! That means he’s fucked someone! A _woman_!”

“Yeah, _years ago_ ,” the woman sneered, “You can’t cheat on someone before you meet them, idiot.”

“Just sayin’, it proves he slept around some, fatherin’ bastards and whatnot like all Cats.”

Sid frowned.

Rielle was frowning too, covertly peeking at the chattering group of Watchman with an unhappy downturn to her mouth, “Miqo’te aren’t like that. _Aza_ isn’t like that.”

“Prejudice comes easy to people,” Sid muttered, feeling his jaw clench as the Watchman continued to argue about whether all Miqo’te counted as bastards, what with them apparently not believing in marriage and being regular practitioners of polygamy, “But you hear the part about Aza’s kid?”

Rielle nodded, biting her bottom lip, “He never mentioned it. But…”

But the fact was it was believable. Male Miqo’te fathered more bastards than an unfaithful Lord with a house full of pretty maids, and that wasn’t an unflattering stereotype, it was _fact_. Sid, though, was aware that it was just how their culture was and he honestly couldn’t throw stones, considering some Xaela married their own fucking _horses_ and did other weird shit. Polygamy was mild compared to that.

It was just… Aza wasn’t your average Miqo’te. He was _odd_ , in that he was monogamous and disinterested in fathering children. He was the exception to the stereotype. So, Sid’s gut instinct was to take that rumour of him toting about a kid well-salted. He might’ve just been returning some lost kid back to their mother or something. A simple misunderstanding.

So, of course, it was then that Aza stepped into the Forgotten Knight toting a Miqo’te child on his hip.

The twittering Watchmen instantly shut up, as if they had unintentionally summoned a Voidsent with their gossiping, and there was a subtle shift in the tavern as Aza descended the steps from the tavern’s door. People peeked and stared at Aza – only to hastily turn back to their own conversations and drinks when the Miqo’te’s intense gaze swept over them. No one could meet those predatory eyes for long.

Except Sid, of course. He pointedly made eye contact, huffing when Aza’s blank expression instantly brightened into a pleased smile.

“Sid! Rielle!” he called, hopping off the last step and making a beeline for his corner. The kid on his hip was looking a bit nervous, and Sid studied her at their approach. He could see a bit of Aza in the shape of her eyes, and her pert nose, but otherwise the resemblance was very mild. Her hair was different, shade of her skin, her _fur_ , even her _tail_ was different. No, Sid was doubtful of any blood relation there.

“I’m not looking after her,” Sid said the moment Aza stopped in front of their table, “Not after the Myste thing.”

Aza wrinkled his nose at him, “Are you still whining about that?”

“ _Whining-_ ”

“Hello!” Rielle said a bit loudly, and Sid grunted when she kicked his shin hard. Even through his greaves it hurt, “Who’s your friend, Aza?”

“Oh, pardon me,” Aza adjusted his hold on the child – she had been watching them quietly, her gaze nervous and unsure, and she seemed to shrink when being the abrupt centre of attention, like she wanted to hide her face into Aza’s shoulder, “This is Sameh. Sameh, this is Rielle, and that sourpuss is Sid. You can just ignore him. He’s all bark, no bite, no matter how scary his face.”

“ _Hey_.”

“Um,” Sameh mumbled, her voice so quiet Sid had to strain to hear it, “Nice to meet you?”

“Nice to meet you,” Rielle returned, and her bright, friendly smile seemed to make Sameh relax a little. Sid wasn’t surprised, Rielle just exuded calm pleasantness, especially once she found her confidence.

Sid leaned back in his seat when Aza got Sameh settled. The Miqo’te offered no explanation for the child as he set her in one of the spare seats at the table. The chair was low enough that Sameh was only visible from the chest up, but the girl didn’t seem to mind. She gripped the edge of the table, half hiding behind it as she stared at Sid with wide eyes, the hilt of the sword peeking over her shoulder. It looked comically large on her, and Sid wondered what the fuck Aza was thinking, letting what he suspected to be a ten-year-old run around with a sword.

Aza remained standing. He dropped his hand atop of Sameh’s head, letting it stay there, and reminded Sid very much of a guard dog at attention, his yellow eyes sweeping the tavern to make sure that everyone was keeping their nose out of their business. Wisely, they all were.

“So,” Sid said into the semi-awkward silence, “A kid, huh?”

Aza’s attention drifted back to him, his ear twitching in annoyance, “The rumours have reached you already, huh?”

Sid glanced none-too-subtly at the Watchman in the table next to them. They were hunched over their drinks, avoiding looking anywhere in Aza’s direction. There earlier mocking, raunchy jokes on Miqo’te were quiet now. Cowards.

“From the sounds of it it’s reached all corners of Ishgard,” Sid said, looking back at Sameh. The girl was still staring at him – specifically at his horns, her gaze shifting from nervous to awe. He could see the tufted end of her tail flick over the edge of the table in what Sid recognised as curiosity.

“Are you liking it here?” Rielle asked Sameh quietly, and Sid was relieved when the kid stopped her staring to shift her focus to Rielle instead.

“It’s too cold,” Sameh complained quietly.

“You’ll get used to it soon, I’m sure, though warmer clothes should help…”

“Mm, we went and ordered some.”

“Oh? Where did you…”

Sid let the girls chat amongst themselves, lowering his voice as he asked Aza, “Is she yours?”

Aza’s expression went blank, his gaze shifting down a fraction.

“…it’s enough that everyone thinks she is,” he muttered bitterly, “I was doing a kindness and it ended up morphing into this fucking mess.”

Sid let out a short breath, not envying Aza in the slightest, “If you want me to take her off your hands-”

“No, it’s fine,” Aza said, “I’ve got it handled.”

His expression said otherwise, but Sid didn’t push. He just watched him closely, seeing his tense posture for what it was: fear. Aza was afraid of something – or, there was some element to this that was making him deeply uneasy. Whether it was dragging an innocent girl unwittingly into danger just by association, or he had a more focused worry, Sid couldn’t tell, but Aza was clearly disturbed about something. The aether around him tasted sharp and thorny, the Darkside vibrating close to the surface, like a coiled snake ready to snap at the first sign of threat.

“But,” Aza continued after a weighty pause, filled with the sound of Sameh regaling Rielle with the tale of their journey through Etranger Alley, “If you could watch her for the next hour…”

“You have business to take care of?”

“Yeah,” Aza’s expression said he wasn’t looking forward to it, “I need to meet Aymeric about her citizenship. I mean, I was planning on taking her with me after we got something to drink, but I think she’ll get bored listening to me and Aymeric bitch about the visa system.”

“That’d make anyone bored, listening to you two whisper sweet nothings at each other.”

“Shut up,” Aza blushed lightly, but his dark mood lifted somewhat, “So, is that-?”

“It’s a yes,” Sid sighed, “I’ll watch her.”

“Thanks,” Aza looked deeply relieved, and it was then that Sid realised how _tired_ he looked, “Really, I appreciate it.”

Sid looked away, feeling oddly self-conscious in the face of Aza’s open gratitude, “It’s nothing.”

Aza smiled at him, and he looked down at Sameh, ruffling her hair, “Sameh, I need to go sort something out. You happy to stay here with Rielle and Sid for a bit?”

Sameh peeked up at Aza, her earlier relaxation when talking to Rielle fading, “…you’re leaving?”

“Only for a bit. I’ll be back.”

“Okay…” Sameh mumbled, not looking happy at all about this. Aza patted her head, like she was a dog and hard enough that she ducked her head slightly, before rubbing her behind the ears. It looked a bit rough to Sid, but he wasn’t an expert on Miqo’te signs of affection (thank the Twelve).

“Be good,” Aza told her, then he looked at Sid and said, “You too.”

Sid glared at him, “Don’t you have a Lord Commander to make bedroom eyes at.”

Aza ignored him and turned to Rielle, “Please look after these children for me.”

Rielle coughed suspiciously into her hand, failing to hide her smile, “I’ll try. Have fun, Aza.”

Aza nodded and then swiftly left. It was only when he had completely left the building that the earlier ambient noise risked returning to his usual, loud volume. The three Watchmen on the table over began muttering anew, peeking none-too-subtly over at them. Sid glared at them until they got the hint and quickly left.

Sameh fidgeted with the strap across her chest for a moment before looking up, a worrying glint in her eye. She looked at Rielle, then Sid, clearly coming to some kind of decision and asked; “What’re ‘bedroom eyes’? Is it like a naughty bite adults do?”

Sid stared at her like she turned into a giant venomous viper. He would’ve preferred that than to _this_. Rielle sucked in a deep breath and held it, turning a curious shade of red. His first distant thought was, Rielle had no business knowing what either of those were. His second, more alarmed thought was, he was not equipped for this talk. 

“…bedroom eyes,” Sid began very slowly, scrambling for a kid-friendly explanation, “Are when you… it’s when you look at someone’s bedroom and… stare at it. Together.”

Sameh cocked her head, confused, “… _huh_?”

Rielle lost it. With an unflattering snort, she burst into laughter.

 

* * *

 

Aymeric was grim-faced when Aza stepped into his office.

Aza felt his heart sink, already half-expecting the worst, and slowly approached his partner. Aymeric didn’t look up from where he had his head cradled in his hand, his eyes half-closed as he stared sightlessly at the paper before him looking very much like the weight of Ishgard itself was crushing itself down on his shoulders.

“Handsome?” Aza murmured the moment he reached his desk.

Aymeric jumped, bolting upright as he blinked out of whatever daze he’d been in, “Aza? Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you come in…”

“Are you okay?” Aza asked him worriedly, immediately skirting around the edge of the desk to be at his side.

“I’m fine. Just tired,” Aymeric muttered, leaning back in his seat. He didn’t resist when Aza placed the back of his hand against his forehead. He didn’t feel hot, but he looked ill regardless. Paler than usual, with dark bruising under his eyes and looking worn down. Aza knew the situation in Ishgard was stressing him out, but he didn’t realise it was _this_ bad. It was enough to make him feel guilty for piling Sameh’s citizenship on him.

“More like exhausted,” Aza chided him, letting his fingers pull through his partner’s thick hair. Aymeric leaned into the touch with a sigh, his eyes closing, “Is something bothering you, handsome? Want me to kill it?”

“Unfortunately, it’s not something easily killed,” Aymeric muttered, and with a sigh he leaned way from Aza’s hand, “I have… news.”

Aza let his hand rest on the edge of the desk, supporting his weight as he took in Aymeric’s serious expression. Inexplicably, he felt nerves tighten his stomach, “News? Bad news?”

“Depending on your viewpoint,” Aymeric admitted. He picked up the paper he had been staring at earlier, holding it so Aza couldn’t see its contents, “I’ve managed to secure Sameh’s citizenship. It required a bit of… negotiation, but I managed it,” he hesitated, before continuing; “It just requires your signature.”

From what Aza knew of citizenship applications, during the mind-numbingly boring time he was forced to read all the paperwork regarding it, the only signature required was the person applying for citizenship. Well, that and the sponsor, but he would’ve thought Aymeric could have fulfilled that role easily. Unless a child’s application required a legal guardian or parent’s signature…? His stomach flopped at the thought.

“Is it…” he began weakly, “Is it as her sponsor?”

Aymeric didn’t reply. He just held the paper out.

A feeling of foreboding brewing in his belly, Aza took the paper like it was a grenade ready to go off. He read it.

There was a dull thud when Aza abruptly found himself just barely catching himself on the edge of the desk with his hip, frantically rereading what he just read when Aymeric worriedly rose from his seat as if to catch him. Aza barely noticed. He was stuck on – was this _seriously_ , why would he do… _what_?

“What- what the fuck is this?” Aza croaked, “ _Blood relation_? She’s not- she isn’t-”

“This is the only way she can get citizenship,” Aymeric said uncertainly, hovering worriedly, “If she claims blood relation to an Ishgardian citizen…”

Aza didn’t think of anything for a moment.

Rumours were one thing. Rumours of her being his kid was something he could… ignore. They would die down eventually, and while the threat to her would remain, Aza could pretend it was for other reasons. He could and would ignore it, and Sameh would eventually forget him and bond with Sid and Rielle and Edmont and be happier and safer. He would be the distant, infrequently visiting legend, who ensured no one was trying to abduct her out of a misguided plot to hurt him, and that would be it.

Legally declaring himself her father was a different kettle of fish. He knew those laws. Aza would have to demonstrate ‘appropriate level of interest’ in his daughter, and publicly, to justify her presence here. He would have to be a part of her life. She would get attached to him. She could, possibly, get confused and _actually_ think of him as her father. She was ten. She would think something stupid like that, especially with all this legal shit saying he _was_ her father and with everyone braying that fact day in and day out. He’d have to act the part. He’d have to _act_ it. Be it. Sameh would believe it.

Aza clumsily set the paper down on Aymeric’s desk with violently shaking hands.

“You don’t need to sign it,” Aymeric murmured to him, his voice in that gentle, soft way of his when he thought Aza was freaking out, “We can find another way.”

“I can’t be her father,” Aza said, barely recognising his own voice, “I can’t.”

“Aza-”

But he didn’t want to listen. He sat down on the floor.

Aymeric said nothing for a moment, looming over him, before he slowly crouched down in front of him.

Silence lingered between them, one broken only by Aza’s short, shuddering breaths. The thought of being a father terrified him. There was no way he could do it. He remembered Ala. He remembered trying to step into those shoes, because Mother wasn’t there, and he had to protect her as best as he could, even when being ground under Master Musa’s heel, but it had gone all wrong. He failed in protecting her, he got her hurt, he made her hate him, and it all ended with her blood on his hands and her staring at him-

He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes until he saw stars, trying to shove that image out of his brain. It was already hard enough to look at Sameh and not see _her_. He found himself slipping up sometimes – giving her those hard ear rubs Ala liked and, getting startled when her hair and ears felt wrong and- even now, twenty years later, he remembered how her hair felt and how she smelled but how she looked was oddly faded around the edges, and was her hair dark? Or grey like Sameh’s? Were her eyes gold? Brown? Blue? He couldn’t remember, and when he tried now he kept thinking _Sameh_ and imagining Sameh staring at him blankly, mouth open in surprise, the knife in the chest-

“What are you afraid of?” Aymeric asked him quietly, “Aza? Please, talk to me-”

“I’ll hurt her,” Aza whispered, “I keep seeing- _her_. I can’t do that. I can’t…”

“You won’t hurt her,” Aymeric said. He gently pulled his hands away from his eyes and held them. Aza dug his fingers in. Aymeric didn’t even flinch, “I _promise_ you, you won’t.”

“I will,” Aza forced out, suddenly angry, “It’s all I do. She’s _scared_ of me. I can see it. She followed me because, because that’s all she can do now. She doesn’t – she’s right to be afraid, she, I _will_ hurt her. I’ll hurt her like I hurt Ala, and- all I _see_ is- is Ala in… I can’t even remember her face, I just see Sameh and- I can’t even _remember_ if- if that’s right, did she look like that? I just keep seeing- seeing her- seeing me, hurt- hurt her-”

“Shhh,” Aymeric murmured when Aza found himself struggling to speak, to breathe, his throat burning over his gasping breaths, “It’s alright, love, it’s alright.”

“It _isn’t_ ,” Aza said wretchedly, “I’m so _fucked up_ , Aymeric. I see Ala in her. I just see Ala. I-I still don’t know if- if I _intentionally_ … did I…”

Aymeric was quiet.

Aza just breathed through the lump in his throat. He could feel Ala’s blood under his fingernails, though when he looked his gloves were clean and he was holding Aymeric’s hands tight. He remembered the relief he felt when Ala had died under his hands. So much relief, so much, thank fuck, it’s over, so that was why he couldn’t… he wasn’t sure if he had intended or…

“Things were different with Ala,” Aymeric finally said, his gaze downcast, “For one, you were a traumatised child under extreme duress and… you were alone. Here, you have me. You have Lord Edmont. Bluebird. The Scions. You’re under your own power. No one is forcing you to do anything.”  

Aza looked away.

“Take all the time you need to think it over,” Aymeric continued, “Process it and talk it though with Lucia. Sameh will be able to stay here for a month or so until someone begins making noise about her presence, so you have time.”

 “…okay,” Aza murmured, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Aymeric said, squeezing his hands, “I shouldn’t have sprung it so suddenly on you. I didn’t think you would…”

Aymeric trailed off, but Aza didn’t prompt him. It was obvious his partner expected him to freak out, but not to this extent. Aza bowed his head, feeling ashamed of his own cowardice. Afraid of a ten-year-old girl. Afraid of the title of ‘father’. His stomach churned queasily, at the thought of Sameh looking up at him with that innocent trust Ala had, calling him ‘Da’ and never suspecting he’d ever hurt her. No, best she kept some of that wary fear that shadowed her gaze when she looked at him…

It was safer for her. Safe was better than ‘happy’.  

But if ‘safe’ was better, then Aza would have to accept the title of father, wouldn’t he? Everyone believed they knew she was his daughter now. He could claim otherwise and dump her in Revenant’s Toll, but people would assume he was trying to protect her. All it would take was one lucky Garlean agent snatching her and… Aza would rush off to save her, daughter or not. She was a child, and if there was one thing Atani beat into him, it was that they were the most precious thing to exist in this filthy, fucked up world. So he’d have to claim her, keep her close, keep her here, behind the thick walls of Ishgard and under Lord Edmont’s protective wing, and Sid’s watchful eye.

Safe was better than happy…

Wasn’t it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, Sid and Rielle are here! Also a lovely heaping of ANGST - with a side dollop of exposition on what the fuck is actually happening in the hot mess that is Ishgard's political scene. 
> 
> So, Thancred has vanished - not to worry, this will be explained soon... in other news I have horrifically sprained my wrist, so these 5000 words were absolute agony to type out because i can barely move it and my fingers without getting stabbing pains of AGONY. I hope you all appreciate my sacrifice lol but no, seriously, expect updates to be delayed for a bit because holy shit, I was in a lot of pain typing and doing it one handed was its own brand of torture and i'm not eager to suffer through it every night tryna update. I'm sorry...!!
> 
> Please comment/kudos if you enjoyed!


	11. Chapter 11

“So, the naughty bites is, um, ‘foreplay’?”

“It’s to get you in the mood. That’s what my Conjury teacher told me. It’s perfectly normal.”

“But biting hurts. So, how does it… but, it does look uncomfortable…”

“Hm?”

“The mating bit! I woke up before, because I heard weird noises, and when I went to Ma, cuz we was sleeping in the cart, and she was wrestling with that Keeper man, uuum… I forget his name. He played the lute in the Ul’dah market. Anyway, they were wrestling, and bumping against the wall, but _not_ , because his dangling thing was going into Ma’s thingy- the middle one, the squishy hole, not the place where poo comes out.”

Sid sighed irritably, slouching lower in his seat. This was torture.

“Oh my,” Rielle said, sounding a little flustered for the first time since this horrifically inappropriate conversation began, “Um, well, that’s- that can be uncomfortable, sometimes, but that’s normal too. That’s, um, sex, and-”

“I know what sex is,” Sameh sniffed, her left ear cocking back a fraction, “I told Aza I knew what it was, but he didn’t believe me. He said I should only know that stuff when I’m older, so that’s why he didn’t tell me if he had a naughty bite.”

“He’s… right,” Rielle said awkwardly, “It’s adult stuff.”

“You’re not an adult though, and _you_ know.”

“I’m a Conjurer,” Rielle said, fidgeting with her sleeve, “I had to learn about the body and how, um, some people might… hurt themselves doing those things, and how to heal them.”

Sameh boggled, “That stuff can hurt you that bad?”

“Well, only if people do it irresponsibl-”

“Do people get stuck?”

“Um?”

“Stuck like, what if, what if the guy’s thing is waaaay too big for the hole?” Sameh leaned forwards, gripping the edge of the table as her tail flicked rapidly from side to side, her eyes all but sparkling with morbid interest, “Do you have to chop it off to get it out again? Or, do you have to like, pull _really_ hard and-”

“Okay, enough,” Sid cut in, because Rielle was gawping like a beached fish – which was, admittedly, funny, but he wasn’t enjoying listening to two _girls_ talk about sex. They were both _way too young_ to know anything about it, even Rielle, “That’s not public talk.”

Sameh slumped from her excited posture, shooting him a fat-lipped pout. It was such an Aza-esque expression that it almost made him doubletake.

“Aw…” she grumbled, but she didn’t challenge him. Instead she shifted, the hilt of her sword catching the light as she openly examined Sid. The longer she was in their presence, the bolder she was getting. Sid wasn’t sure if he preferred that to her earlier, quiet shyness. On the one hand, she was coming out of her shell, on the other… she was a nosy, inquisitive little _brat_.

Rielle cleared her throat, her cheeks a light shade of red, “Sorry, Sid.”

“Mister Sid,” Sameh piped up, “Are you a dragon-man?”

Sid twitched, stifling the brief flash of indignation at the Ishgardian slur. The child didn’t know, he told himself, eyeing Sameh. The girl’s shyness returned, and she timidly hid behind the edge of the table, her ears drooping, under the weight of his stare.

“…I’m an Au Ra,” he said after a pause, “We come from the Azim Steppes.”

Sameh hesitated, before asking, “Where’s that?”

“Far away.”

“Near Ul’dah?”

“No, further. As far as you can think of.”

Sameh squinted, thinking hard, “…the moon?”

“It’s on another continent,” Sid said exasperatedly, feeling his eyebrow twitch. Rielle coughed suspiciously, “On the other side of this star. You need to… to fly there or something.”

Sameh’s eyes widened, “You can _fly_?”

Rielle’s coughing turned into a snort, one that she quickly stifled when Sid shot her a glare.

“…. I think it’s time we got a drink,” he declared, “You like pumpkin spice?”

“Uh,” Sameh began, looking wrong-footed.

“Good. I’ll get you a pumpkin-spiced hot chocolate.”

Sid took his chance to escape while he could. Leaving the girls behind, he slinked over to the bar, side-stepping around the cramped tables and chairs. People glanced at him as he passed, but a few let their calculating gazes slide to the table where Rielle and Sameh sat. Sid made sure to burn their faces to memory as potential troublemakers. He wasn’t blind to the potential danger Sameh was now in, damned by association as she was.

But he doubted anyone would _try_ anything too bold. Between himself, Rielle, Aza and most likely the _Lord Commander_ , Sameh would be as safe as anything.

* * *

 

“-and Dounon said that the immigrants were taking up homes the Brumites could have lived in…”

“Isn’t this the same guy who bitched about poor people being poor because they’re lazy?”

“The very same,” Aymeric said dully.

They were still sitting on the floor. After Aza had calmed down and dried his tears, he had tried to get up and found himself struggling when his leg decided to lock up. His partner had been in clear pain and, Gods, Aymeric couldn't bear to see him like that, so here they were, sitting on the floor with Aza's leg stretched across his lap, his partner slouched against the drawers under his desk, chatting about idle, inconsequential things in an effort to push past the earlier heaviness. He focused on Aza's tense leg, feeling the taut muscles slowly relax under his fingers, and considered asking Allert to take a look at it. This wasn't the first time Aza's leg had gave out on him, and it seemed to be happening more and more often...

 _He's getting old_ , a traitorous thought whispered, but Aymeric firmly pushed it aside. 

Aza looked a bit better from his earlier… upset, at least. His eyes were suspiciously red-rimmed, his face pale and expression tired, but he was engaged in the conversation, was focused on him and smiling - leaps and bounds better than before, where Aza would've withdrawn into himself for hours on end. Still, Aymeric was kicking himself for causing his upset in the first place. He knew the whole Sameh situation bothered him, but he didn't  _think_... he should'v known. He knew about Ala, saw how bothered Aza was, and should've made the connection. Instead he fucked it up and hurt his partner and he felt like an awful fool for it. 

 

He was just so bloody tired, with this damned headache sneaking up on him. It was draining his will to do _anything_. Making it difficult to think things through. He needed a break, but had no time for it. He was going to crash and burn at this rate but couldn't... do anything to stop it. He pushed that worry aside too. 

“Are you sure he’s not some Voidsent spat out of hell for the sole purpose of tormenting you?” Aza asked him wryly, drawing him out of his darkening thoughts, “Because from here it looks like he’s shaving more and more of your soul away with each meeting.”

“He’s…” Aymeric hesitated. He already complained more than he should about Dounon, but, _Gods_ , he had to rant about this to someone before he snapped and started stabbing people during meetings at the House of Lords, “He’s a _nightmare_ ,” he confessed in open frustration, “Even just hearing his _name_ gives me a migraine. He’s loud, bigoted, _corrupted-_ did you hear what he did recently?”

“Uh, no-”

“He bribed some of my knights – _my knights, Aza_ – to commit illegal inspections on the foreign merchants. I couldn’t even pin it on him, since the craven let one of his middle men take the fall for him. Do you know what they did?”

“Wh-”

“My knights stole merchandise, broke stalls, chased people away – it was as if I stepped back in time to the Theocracy. Some of those men, I thought them to be good, up-standing knights, and when questioned they had the audacity to _lie_ to me and say they had nothing to do with it. No recollection or memory of accepting bribes and harassing innocent people. There were multiple eyewitnesses to say otherwise – _even myself_. I couldn’t believe it.”

“Um-”

“Then there was that mess with Lord Naihex,” Aymeric continued, “He said he had some worrying news of corrupted elements within the government, confessed that he felt he was being watched. We arranged a time to meet properly, he with his collected evidence… and the next morning he jumps off the top of the Holy See out of his own volition. _Allegedly_. I’d sooner eat my own blade than believe that tripe.”

Aza was quiet, staring wide-eyed at him.

Aymeric let out a short breath, feeling a bit better for _finally_ getting that out, and patted his partner’s thigh, “There, all done.”

“Wow,” Aza blurted, “Seven hells, handsome. Are you okay?”

Aymeric looked at him dully.

“I’m very stressed,” he said.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Aza said blankly, sliding his leg off his lap. There was a pause, where his partner looked at him and Aymeric rubbed at his forehead. He had so much to do today. Lucia was handling the knights who patrolled Etranger Alley, to ensure a _repeat_ didn’t happen, but it meant Aymeric was juggling everything here, and then he needed to visit his counterpart to discuss how to push things out of the House of Lords and into the Commons more effectively, then he needed to go to a House of Lords meeting to discuss potential changes to the visa application, contending with Dounon-

Ah. There was that headache.

Aza reached out, tugging at him, “Aymeric, stop thinking. C’mere.”

He could do nothing but obey. He let his partner pull him close, and it was a little awkward and uncomfortable, the pair of them sprawled half on the floor, half against the desk, with Aza holding him against his chest and running a hand through his hair, massaging his scalp. It was good though. Aymeric felt some of the tension he’d been holding for _weeks_ ease out of him.

“Deep breath,” Aza murmured somewhere above him, “C’mon, nice and deep.”

Aymeric inhaled, closing his eyes.

“And out.”

Exhale.

“Okay,” Aza’s tail flicked against his thigh, “If this Lord Fuckface is bothering you that much, I can arrange an unhappy accident for him. He sounds like a parasite that needs cutting off anyways.”

Aymeric sighed morosely, “Political assassination isn’t the answer.”

“I never said I’d _kill_ him,” Aza said mildly, “Just… maim him a little. Put him out of commission long enough for you to deal with him more legally.”

Aymeric was quiet. It was too much temptation, but he couldn’t give in. The moment he let Aza perform such things for him, it would betray the Republic he was working so hard to create. No, even if he had to contend with creatures like Dounon, Aymeric was determined to see this system work. It had a few teething issues, but it was in its infancy still. Another year, another five years, a decade even… Aymeric was going to make this _work_ , no matter how hard it was.

“Leave Lord Dounon to me,” Aymeric muttered, “I’ll find a way to deal with him.”

“If you’re sure.”

Silence fell on them then. Aymeric found himself dozing. This was the first time he felt so relaxed in the past two weeks. Aza had been absent for that time, and Aymeric had been dealing with this mess by himself… well, no, he had Lucia and Artoriel supporting him, but… they weren’t Aza. Even if his partner’s presence brought another stressor with him – Sameh. They needed to deal with her too, but… she could wait. She was fine. Aymeric could put out fires in his own house first before working through Aza’s issues. Lucia could do that for a bit, maybe?

He almost dropped into a deep sleep before he stirred abruptly, remembering; “I have work-”

“Shhh, no you don’t,” Aza whispered to him, holding him tight before he even thought to try and get up, “Just stay down here with me, handsome. A quick nap, alright? You took care of me, so let me take care of you.”

Aymeric hesitated… but guiltily relaxed. A power nap sounded good. Only twenty minutes – and then he had to push through the day, and Aza had to confront parenthood and Aymeric would have to butt head with _Dounon_.

…

Oh. No headache that time.

Aza’s presence must have healing properties, he thought semi-seriously. He shifted his weight, so he wasn’t tucked so uncomfortably against his smaller partner and let his head rest on his chest. He could hear his heartbeat, steady and strong, and he let that chase him into a light, peaceful sleep. Even if Aza brought his own problems to his door, Aymeric felt stronger, more assured with him at his side. Maybe he could convince him to stay for a few weeks, maybe a month, until this whole mess was sorted…?

Even though he was on the hard, unyielding floor, in an awkward position, Aymeric slept the best sleep he had since this whole mess began, his dreams tinted a soft, faint blue like the refracted light of a crystal.

* * *

 

Roufoud was finding Lord Dounon less funny and more worrisome by the day.

He warily watched the blustering, heavy-set man from underneath his fringe, feigning careless boredom by picking at his fingernails. It was another ‘informal meeting’ for the Conservative Faction within the House of Lords, but really it was just a bitch session. In the beginning, Roufoud enjoyed these get togethers. They would moan and complain about how different things were, how the Lord Commander was a cat-fucker, how no one respected us anymore, etcetera, etcetera… all shite Roufoud didn’t really believe in but found fun to engage in – until it recently. Recently, the meetings became a little more… dangerous, more hostile and ugly. Roufoud ended up skipping them often nowadays, but he could only do that so many times before his absence is questioned.

So here he was, listening to Dounon rant first thing in the morning and slowly developing a building migraine from the sound of his grating voice.

“Father Burix even had the audacity to make me read the scriptures myself,” Lord Dounon said sourly, “Outdated tomes! It is _heretical_ , to lie with beasts as he does! He should be dragged off by the inquisitors for that crime alone!”

Veipent, a mousy man with a sharp-edged tongue, sniffed in agreement, “He is so very _brazen_ about it. But, what does one expect from a lowly bastard? No sense of decency or morals, in that tainted blood of his.”

“No loyalty either,” Ashent rumbled his assent, a burly lord who looked like his mother mated with a bear to birth him, “Killed his father. Betrayed us all.”

“Kin-slayer,” Dounon spat, “Nothing more than a greedy usurper. He murdered the Archbishop, just so he could get his filthy hands on Ishgard and look how it’s ended! Commoners standing equal to those of superior birth! Declaring dragons our friends! Opening our gates to thieving foreigners! It’s unnatural, all of it, him and his fucking _pet_.”

“That ‘pet’,” Roufoud reminded him mildly, “Saved us from Nidhogg, if you recall.”

“Only because it served the Lord Commander’s purpose,” Dounon sneered, “It was a mummer’s farce, a _trick_ , to awe the peasants and make them mass behind him for his coup!”

Roufoud thought Nidhogg’s death was fairly real to him. But it was impossible to talk to Dounon when he was in one of these moods. Before it had been amusing but… Roufoud had noticed the talk towards the Lord Commander and the Warrior of Light becoming more poisonous, hostile, and very closely toeing the line of _treason_. Plotting to have Lord Aymeric imprisoned on charges of heresy, real or false? Muttering on what unflattering rumours can be spread about Lord Lynel to destroy his reputation? Roufoud was all for a bit of harassment but this… this was very dangerous.

But he was stuck too deep now. The lords before him had as much dirt on him as he them, and if he tried backing out, they’d be upon him like a pack of wolves on a limping fawn. Roufoud very much liked being alive, thank you very much.

“Well, what can you do?” Roufoud said with forced glibness, “He makes the rules, and his pet is ever so protective of him. Unless _you’re_ willing to brave that cat’s snapping fangs to lay the usurper low once and for all…”

He expected Dounon to go off in a snit. To growl and huff and moan until someone mercifully called an end to the meeting. Instead he smiled a mean, ugly little smile, leaning back in his seat.

“Perhaps I am,” Dounon said, “Or, perhaps I’ve found a way to muzzle that beast of his.”

Roufoud watched him warily, puzzled. No one was overly eager to tangle with the Warrior of Light. As much as they sneered and turned their nose up at his common birth and savage ways, he was powerful. He was _immortal_ , almost. No God could touch him, no Primal could defeat him, no Man could ever hope to best him. The Lord Commander made a wise decision, to coax such a powerful protector into his bed, because it made him nigh untouchable.

“The Warrior of Light has a _daughter_ ,” Dounon continued, looking absolutely delighted, “A little girl of ten winters… and he’s brought her _here_.”

To play house with the Lord Commander no doubt, but Roufoud could see where this was going. His stomach started to make its rapid descent into the Seven Hells as he took in the worrying glint in Dounon’s eye – in everyone’s eyes. He knew they all disliked the Lord Commander and the Warrior of Light, but, what they were _suggesting_ …

“He’ll become _our_ pet,” Dounon purred, “If we have that kitten underneath our control. I have no doubt about it. He’ll _answer_ for his crimes… for his _audacity_ to think himself equal to us. For _murdering_ our true lord, the Archbishop, King Thordan, and installing a filthy _usurper_ …”

A few of the lords murmured the old Archbishop’s name in reverence, and Roufoud’s uneasiness all but tripled – as well as his confusion. _True_ Lord? Dounon, for all his blustering, was as pious as a prostitute. He didn’t give two figs about Archbishop Thordan except how much grovelling gave him however much influence he needed. He remembered the scriptures only to accuse his enemies of heresy. For him to be playing devoted worshipper…

But he’s not playing, Roufoud realised. Dounon’s eyes were bright with a fanatic gleam seen in the inquisitors of old, in the Heavensward – it was an alien expression on a man so otherwise self-absorbed and greedy. He couldn’t look at him, slouching low in his seat as sweat pricked the back of his neck, his eyes darting from one lord to the next. Veipent, Dounon, Ashent, even his old friend Pruimois shared that terrifying, fanatical look in glazed over eyes.

Roufoud picked at his fingernails again, feigning his usual cool boredom as Dounon murmured his awful plot to them all. No one spoke up – not even him. Was it just him who kept his sanity here or were there others just as terrified as him? He daren’t speak up. He pretended to be more interested in his nails that the treason coming out of Dounon’s mouth. He said not a word.

The plan was set. Roufoud thought it was going to end in all their deaths – if not by the Warrior of Light’s hand, then definitely the Lord Commander’s. But still, he said nothing.

“For King Thordan,” Dounon concluded the meeting, raising his arms in benediction. A crystal at his throat twinkled almost hypnotically, and Roufoud found himself blankly mimicking him. His migraine was like a crown of thorns digging into his temples, his eyes drawn to that flickering, beautiful gem, entranced, even if a part of him realised that something… something was...  

“For King Thordan,” they all echoed, their eyes empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ﾟ∀(・－・)
> 
> please comment/kudos if you enjoyed~


	12. Chapter 12

Sameh was struggling to keep her eyes open.

The hot chocolate that Sid got her had been very nice – but it made her drowsy, as well as the warmth of the tavern. It smelled weird, though, like vinegary alcohol, and sometimes a blast of cold air would follow someone stumbling through the doors, but it wasn’t enough to keep the exhaustion at bay. She was so _tired_ , and hadn’t slept well, but… she didn’t want to sleep. She was afraid to sleep. Every time she tried since Ma died, she kept seeing…

She pinched herself hard on the thigh, biting the inside of her cheek with her fang until she tasted metal. Sid and Rielle were talking, and she forced herself to listen.

“We could always visit the Moogles again,” Rielle was saying, “It’s been a while since we went to see them.”

“I am not willingly walking all the way up that damn mountain to have those useless furballs twitter at me,” Sid said sourly. His arms were crossed and he scowled fiercely, but much like what Aza said, he was all bark and no bite. Well, he’d been nice so far, even if he looked grumpy while doing it, much like Selort back in Camp Dragonhead.

“Moogles?” Sameh asked drowsily, “Like the ones in the forest?”

“Mmhm,” Rielle turned to her with a smile. She liked her smiles, “They are a little different, and they live in the Churning Mists, which is full of dragons.”

“Dragons…”

“It’s safe, though, so long as you stay close to their village,” Rielle tapped her bottom lip, “Maybe if you ask Aza, he’ll take you there? I’m sure you’ll love the Moogles, Sameh.”

Sid muttered something very rude under his breath. Sameh thought about it. She never saw a Moogle before – well, she saw toys and dolls of them, but not a real life, breathing Moogle. She wondered how fuzzy their pom-poms were… and their cute little wings… did they feel like bat wings… mmm…

Sameh didn’t realise she dozed off until her cheek hit the table with a dull ‘ _thud_ ’. She jolted awake, sitting upright so fast she nearly fell off the seat.

Rielle laughed good naturedly at her, “Sleepy?”

“N-No…” Sameh said quickly, rubbing at her burning eyes, “I’m not. I’m… um…”

Rielle’s smile faded a little as she studied her, “You _look_ sleepy. Are you okay?”

Sameh dropped her hands, blinking rapidly, and made sure to nod as vigorously as she could, “Yeah! I’m okay! I, um, the hot chocolate made me, um, drowsy, is all. I’m not tired. I don’t need to sleep.”

Sid was looking at her too now. Something about their gazes were too knowing, and Sameh quickly looked down at the table, anxiously wringing her hands in her lap. Exhaustion pulled at her… she just wanted to put her head down and sleep, but every time she closed her eyes she’d see Ma, and the wolves with their bellies split open, and Aza, with his sword drawn, glints of red in his eyes and on the metal, and the Bad Men laughing, being chopped up and… she didn’t want to see that stuff. It was okay. She could stay awake. She didn’t need sleep.

“Sameh…” Rielle began slowly, “When did you last have a full night’s rest?”

Sameh winced, “Um… um, last night?”

She was always a poor liar. Rielle looked at Sid. Sid looked back at her. They looked to agree about something.

“You look ready to drop,” Sid finally said, pinning her down with an uncomfortably intense stare, “You have trouble sleeping?”

Sameh stayed quiet. She looked at her hands. Her palms were red, some of the scabs from her scrapes having come off, showing pink, newly healed skin. She remembered the red on Ma and abruptly felt ill. She squeezed her eyes shut so she didn’t have to see.

“Does Aza know?” Rielle pressed gently.

Sameh shrugged. Aza probably knew – he seemed to know lots of things about her, but sometimes he seemed clueless. He made her feel on edge, but at the same time feel so protected. He had saved her, but he terrified her, he cared for her, but was distant too. What was he to her? Da? She wished, she _wished_ , but other times, he was so unreadable and cold and…

“How did you meet Aza, anyways?” Sid asked, “You keep mentioning your mother, but-”

Rielle suddenly hushed him, but Sameh caught the meaning.

“…some Bad Men hurt Ma,” Sameh said, feeling oddly calm saying that. She was too tired. She had cried and hurt and… she felt kind of dull about it now. She didn’t know if she liked the feeling or not, “And Ma… didn’t get up. She was covered in red stuff and… wolves came and- and…” she faltered, not sure how to refer to him. Aza? Da? She wasn’t sure. “He, um… he saved me, he chopped them up and, and took me and Ma to, to Dragonhead and… me to here.”

Rielle was chewing her bottom lip, her expression painfully sympathetic. Sid was just as unreadable as Aza, blank-faced. They were very similar, Sameh noted absently. So cold and gruff, but full of thorny kindness. It was kind of weird.

“So, it’s like that, huh?” Sid muttered, “You have nowhere to go.”

Sameh flinched at the blunt way he put it, but it was true. Aza took her here because she said she wanted to come here, but… really, it was because Ma said this was where they _must_ go and… now that she was here she was lost. Aza was dragging her around, placing her with Edmont, now here, buying her stuff, rubbing her ears, looking after her like Da should but – she didn’t know what was happening. Was he keeping her? Staying? Or will he abandon her too? Had he already? He’d already been gone for over two hours. Maybe he left her here.

She could feel her eyes sting at the thought, her throat closing up, but she took a deep breath, tightly gripping the leather strap holding Ma’s sword to her. Don’t cry.

“Yeah,” she whispered to the table, her heart feeling so heavy it sat at the very bottom of her belly, “I have nowhere to go.”

A heavy silence fell on them. Sid was staring at the table, his jaw clenched so hard she thought she could hear his teeth grind. Rielle was looking at her.

“… Sameh,” she said, “There’s a spell I know that can help you with sleeping.”

“I don’t want to sleep,” Sameh said dully, “I see bad things.”

“This will stop you from seeing bad things,” Rielle said, “For a little bit, but, um, you can’t avoid bad dreams forever. My Conjury teacher told me that bad dreams are your mind’s way of processing bad experiences. Eventually, they might go away, or you might find a way to deal with them, but they will get better, in a way.”

Sameh glanced at her. This sounded like Aza’s speech about how grief never went away, only dulled.

“I have bad dreams,” Sid cut in gruffly. Sameh looked at him in surprise, but Sid was still glaring at the table. He was tense, and awkward, and looked very much like he didn’t want to be here, but he continued; “You learn to deal with them, eventually. It gets better. You just need to be stubborn about it.”

“But a little help goes a long way in making it easier,” Rielle said softly, “So, do you want me to help? I can put you in a dreamless sleep for a little bit.”

Sameh thought about it. She was exhausted, but the needle-sharp fear of seeing Ma – and the pink-blue snakes tumbling out of wolves’ bellies and- she took a deep breath. She needed to push on, like Aza said. Standing still wasn’t going to get her anywhere, with these horrible dreams, or life in general.

“Okay,” she whispered, “I’ll- I’ll sleep.”

Rielle smiled at her sadly and reached over. She gently poked her forehead and-

Sameh was asleep before her head touched the table.

* * *

This was why Sid hated dealing with kids – he had a fatal soft spot for traumatised orphans.

“Aza better have ‘chopped up’ those ‘Bad Men’,” he muttered, watching Sameh snore quietly into the table. The moment Rielle had tapped her with a weak Sleep spell, Sameh had dropped off so fast Rielle practically scrambled to cushion her head before she faceplanted into the table. Admittedly, very funny to watch – not so funny to realise just how _exhausted_ Sameh must’ve been. Kid or no, Sleep normally took a few seconds to kick in when the victim was moderately rested.

“Considering how attached he seems…” Rielle began, letting her hand rest atop of Sameh’s head. He could see faint wisps of pale aether – healing. Sid didn’t have the head for that kind of magic, but to Rielle it was like a swan taking to water. She breathed healing and calm, and the touch of her aether was like a soothing balm. It made the world feel a little less shit for a while.

“Hmm, and that’s what worries me,” Sid murmured.

Rielle shot him a questioning look, but he didn’t elaborate.

The thing was, Sid _knew_ Aza. Or rather, he recognised his behaviour. Fray had been much the same, had whispered to him one cold night, when Ser Ompagne left them panting and sprawled under the stars from a hard spar (thrashing), why he hated as he did, why he wished to be as strong as Ser Ompagne. ‘To be untouchable’, he had whispered to him, ‘to never cower again’. Sid hadn’t understood at the time, never really understood until Sid saw what true depravity Spoken were capable of.

Fray had always been best in those situations. Angry, and vicious, and so so _cautious_ of his personal space… but he had understood in a way Sid never could. Never wanted to.

It was a difficult pill to swallow when he recognised that behaviour in Aza, but he kept his peace. It took Fray years to whisper it to him that cold night, and it had been on his terms. He’ll wait for Aza to tell him himself, or pretend ignorance if he never did. Sid wasn’t bothered. He didn’t tell Aza everything about himself, after all…

But. _But_. It meant Sid was aware of what faults Aza had. What faults _Fray_ had. He had a suspicion how this was going to end, and it was either going to go _very well_ – or very poorly.

“Sid?” Rielle prompted quietly, her hand now resting on the nape of Sameh’s neck.

“Aza is damaged in a particular way,” Sid said, “This might be good for him, getting attached to a brat. But I wouldn’t _trust_ her with him.”

Rielle frowned, “Aza’s a good man.”

“A good man… but not a nice one,” Sid muttered, his gaze flickering up when the door blew open, “Hrmph. Speak of the Devil.”

Aza clomped in through the tavern’s doors, snow chasing his heels. The wind that rushed through the tavern made everyone cringe and huddle down in their seats, shooting sour looks at Aza – only to quickly look away upon recognising him. Aza ignored them, his yellow eyes locking onto Sameh almost instantly.

He looked terrible, Sid noted as Aza stomped down the stairs.

“Trouble in paradise?” he asked semi-seriously when Aza drew near enough.

“Hah,” Aza said flatly, his gaze flickering over Sameh, Rielle’s hand resting on her nape, then at Sid. There was an edge of tiredness to his expression, the emotional kind – he sort of squinted his eyes a bit like Fray used to when stressed out, “Ishgard is just fucked- oh, sorry, Rielle.”

“It’s fine. Sid says worse things,” Rielle said.

“I do not,” Sid grumbled.

“But no, we didn’t argue,” Aza continued, “Aymeric’s at the end of his rope with… things. I intend to sort it out later.”

Sid frowned at Aza’s vagueness, but the Miqo’te didn’t elaborate. Instead he turned back to Sameh, considering her like one would consider the best way to handle a venomous scorpion without getting stung. Sid watched him warily.

“She’s flat out, huh…” Aza muttered.

“She hasn’t been sleeping well,” Rielle said, pulling her hand away from Sameh’s nape, “So I helped her a little.”

Aza looked troubled.

“She spoke about the ‘Bad Men’ who killed her mother,” Sid said bluntly, “Have they been taken care of.”

“Yes,” Aza murmured, something dangerous flickering through his expression, “They were just a bunch of pathetic animals preying on travellers. I let Emmanellain have one, though. Y’know, so he could say he’s doing a good job at apprehending criminals, or something.”

“How generous of you,” Sid said dryly, “You taking her now?”

“Tired of being babysitter?” Aza shot back, but he looked even more stressed. He ran a hand through his hair, almost upsetting his loose braid, “But yeah. I should take her back to Edmont to sleep in a proper bed at least…”

“Hmmm.”

“What?” Aza’s yellow eyes flashed at him. It took Sid off guard, sometimes, how much of Fray he saw in his expressions and mannerisms. It pissed him off sometimes.

“Nothing,” Sid said, “Just wondering why you’re so scared of her.”

Aza went still.

Rielle audibly held her breath.

“… I’m not scared,” Aza lied quietly, but his stiff posture and blanched expression betrayed him.

“You stink of fear,” Sid told him bluntly, “I’ve seen it in you enough times to recognise it.”

Aza’s expression darkened, a very faint glint of red in his pupils – but a blink and the Darkside fizzled out before its claws sunk in deep enough, “Leave it.”

Sid shot him a sour look but dropped it. Prodding and prodding and prodding would just piss him off more anyways.

“Um,” Rielle gently cut into the tense silence that built between them, “Are you two fighting again?”

“Just a disagreement,” Aza said after a pause, his tense posture relaxing as he sent a smile Rielle’s way. It was almost unnerving how he could flip from one expression to another so flawlessly, “Thanks for helping her out, Rielle.”

“Oh, it wasn’t any problem,” Rielle said in relief, “But it’s not a permanent solution. She’ll need to find a way to manage her nightmares.”

Aza grimaced but nodded, “Right, I’ll… try to help with that. Hopefully…”

“If you need help, we’ll give it,” Sid said reluctantly, even if he felt like he was dooming himself to becoming the designated babysitter, “Though, don’t expect me to help too much with the emotional crap.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Aza drawled, “I think I’d sooner ask the Moogles than _you_ about healthy emotional support.”

Sid’s eye twitched.

“I better be off,” Aza sighed and he looked at Sameh, clearly deciding the best way to go about picking her up. After a moment of contemplation, he scooped her up into his arms and let her rest against his chest like she was an oversized baby, his arm beneath her rump and his other arm free to grab the hilt of his blade if need be.

“Thanks for looking after her for me,” Aza said once he was satisfied Sameh was secure, “I appreciate it.”

“I’ll be happy to see her again,” Rielle said. No doubt she’d been pleased to speak to another girl, even if she was several years their senior, “Don’t you think the same, Sid?”

Sid sighed heavily, “Yeah. I’m up for babysitting – _with advanced notice_.”

Aza snorted, which showed how much he thought of sticking to _that_ , “Sure, sure. I’ll see you guys around.”

They gave their farewells, and Aza left them alone. Sid noticed a few eyes following the Miqo’te, noticed one particular man in a heavy, woollen cloak immediately rise from their seat and slip out the Brume way. So, the rats were already scurrying to inform their masters. Sid didn’t feel concerned. While he wouldn’t trust Sameh’s _emotional_ and _mental_ wellbeing with Aza… he’d definitely trust her physical safety. Aza would murder anything, be they sellswords or corrupted lord, that would try to wrench that girl from him.

For Aza was already attached – terrified, but attached. But what was he afraid of? Fray would understand, but Sid didn’t.

He sighed.

“Aza’s not sure on what he’s doing, is he?” Rielle asked, her face set into one of exasperation, “I think that’s what is scaring him.”

Sid thought about it. Yeah, that sounded like something Aza would tie himself into knots over.

“Like I said,” he muttered, “I wouldn’t trust the kid with him… but you could say the same about me. You shouldn’t have been trusted with me, but I was all you had.”

Rielle looked at him in mild surprise – then smiled.

“That is true,” she said, “But everything went fine… with a bit of help from others. I think that’s the same here, don’t you think?”

Sid huffed.

“Yeah,” he said, “I guess.”

What’s another brat to look over?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [SAMEH PICTURE HERE](https://gyazo.com/2044ce86b59785fb36a9113b2277c48b) done by the lovely [Sensenaoya](http://senlitheringme.deviantart.com)! 
> 
> I hope that pic helps with visualising Sameh <3
> 
> Also man, I've always wanted to know more how Sid and Fray were like, as two orphan boys learning the art of Dark Knight. I bet that'd be a cool story to follow... hmm, maybe one day... 
> 
> Anyway, yes, a bit of a filler chapter, I'm afraid. Things will pick up properly next chapter and we'll finally find out what the fuck is going on in the House of Lords. Maybe. Potentially. Possibly.
> 
> Please comment/kudos if you enjoyed!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wee woo wee woo wee woo Very Short Timeskip wee woo wee woo wee woo

Sameh wondered if it made her a bad person that she was beginning to like parts of her new life.

It took three days for this thought to take hold, three days where she woke up in Edmont’s home, ate his wonderful food, sat in his warm, comfortable living room, allowed to _read books_ as much as she wanted, with Aza visiting at erratic times but never less than four times a day. Each time he visited he brought a piece of clothing for her: first had been gloves, then boots, then woollen trousers, then a thick jerkin, then a woollen poncho, and then socks and then…

Every time.

It was from the clothing lady, Aza had said, being very blank-faced and dismissive whenever he handed the gift over to her. No point waiting for the entire order to be finished in bulk, he had said.

It made Sameh feel very confused. Because he would be so distant when giving her gifts, but he would linger for a while, sometimes talk to Edmont, sometimes skulk through the house to avoid him, roaming to who knows where, then come back to her and ask her if she was settling in fine, did she need anything else, how was Edmont, was he being nice to her, do you still have trouble sleeping, are you hungry, do you want more clothes, are you fine with these books, what genre do you like, do you want a treat, do you want more books, do you want different clothes, do you want, do you want, do you want-

She’d answer him, and then Aza would nod and leave and she would wonder if that would be the last she’d see him… but then he’d come back a few hours later, and, if she expressed an interest in something, like a book, or some type of treat, he’d come back with that, and do the usual blank-faced, dismissive hand over of the gift like it was nothing. Then he would rub her ears, wander off, come back, and start the question process again.

It made her _so very confused_. Did he like her? Or not? Why was he so weird when giving her gifts? Why did he look at her uncertainly? Why did he… it hurt her head trying to understand Aza, so she stopped trying. She tentatively enjoyed the gifts, came to enjoy the rough ear-rubs, and found herself searching Aza’s face for the affection Ma would direct her way every time she ruffled her hair.

She never found it.

Or, she saw _something,_ something that bordered on warm, but it was difficult to tell when he avoided looking at her so much. He reminded her of a little hermit crab hiding in its shell, only occasionally poking out whenever no one was looking. Because that’s what he was doing: hiding.

But she got used to it. She got comfortable with Aza giving her gifts, with Edmont’s lovely house, and found herself feeling so horrible and guilty about it. She was here because Ma wasn’t, and she was lying on expensive, squashy sofas, reading books they were always too poor to buy, and eating more than they could buy in a week… and she was beginning to like it. She was beginning to _like_ this comfort and security, even if it was in a too cold, alien place. She was adapting to it. She _liked_ it.

She liked this place, was liking Aza, was hoping he was her Da… even though it came at the cost of Ma.

Did that…

Did that make her a horrible person?

\---

“Here.”

Sameh squeaked in surprise when something thick and plush dropped onto her head. She dropped the book she had her nose buried into onto her lap, flailing to free herself from what felt like a woollen snake. It was a scarf, she eventually realised, patterned in jagged stripes of pink and rose-white, and was so soft to the touch that she couldn’t help but stroke it.

She looked up, at where Aza was leaning over the back of the sofa. He was peering down at her blank-faced, but his gaze was intent. She decided that he was waiting to see if she liked it or not – liked to imagine that he was so stone-faced because he was so nervous of her disliking it, not because he just didn’t care. Yes, it made her feel better to imagine it like that!

“You got me a scarf,” she said a bit stupidly, “But, um, we didn’t order that.”

“I got it just now,” Aza said, “I realised when I was collecting your clothes that… I never got you one. So, uh, there.”

He looked awkward now. He shifted his weight from side to side, his gaze lowering briefly.

“You now have enough stuff to go outside again, if you want,” Aza offered quietly, “I can take you to see Rielle and Sid again. They can show you around Etranger Alley a bit more.”

Sameh hesitated, curling her fingers tight into her new scarf. Even when looking unsure, Aza was still intimidating. He _loomed_ , and something about him reminded her of those snarling guard dogs the Ul’dahn merchant used to protect their caravans, like she was never sure if he was going to bite her or shy away when she went to pet him. But. _But_.

She had come to a realisation after three days of Aza slinking to her with a gift in hand, only to retreat whenever she expressed gratitude. He was feeling the same as her, wasn’t he? He wasn’t sure what… what she was, like she wasn’t sure what _he_ was, and so they were creeping around each other. It meant he was putting in effort, though. It meant he was _trying_ and… why? Why put in the effort?

 _He must be Da_ , that persistent whisper of hope in her said, _He must be, because why else would he look after me? I’m no one._

Aza was the Warrior of Light, and… why would someone like that _ever_ try so hard with a nobody half-breed kid like her? Her chest hurt at the thought of that, but she knew it was true.

“Sameh?”

Aza’s voice broke her out of her thoughts, and she realised she had sat there in silence for too long. Aza’s expression wasn’t blank anymore. His nose was slightly scrunched, his ears flicked forwards – worry.

“Sorry, um, I… I don’t mind seeing Sid and Rielle again, if you want,” she said quietly, “Or, um, we can go. Just us two?”

Aza looked startled at the suggestion, “Us two?”

Sameh nodded slowly, smoothing her hands over the scarf pooling over her thighs, “Mhm. I… I liked going to that place with you last time. We can, um, we can visit the shops together and, um…”

She trailed off. Aza was making a very strange expression, one she didn’t understand, and he drummed his fingers on the back of the sofa. His stare was very intent, and Sameh fought not to look away from the weight of it. He stared, and stared, and stared. Then…

“…why?” Aza finally asked – he sounded wary, “I won’t be good company, Sameh. Wouldn’t you want to go with Rielle instead? She’s a- uh, girl who’s closeish to your age. I think?”

Rielle was very nice, but Sameh felt like she’d be intruding if she was placed with her and Sid again. She wondered if Sid was Rielle’s Da, even if they didn’t look anything alike. Maybe Rielle’s scales and horns will come in later, or something? Lizards shed, so maybe it was like that? She’d shed and have scales underneath?

“I wanna go with you,” she mumbled, lifting the scarf up to her mouth. It was soft against her chin and tickled her nose. She fought not to sneeze, “You can, um, come with me, and Rielle, and Sid?”

Aza’s ear twitched, and for a moment she thought he was going to refuse.

“… okay,” he said slowly, pushing off the back of the sofa and rubbing a hand over his ear, “I need to catch up with Sid anyways so… fine, alright. We’ll have an outing. Just a short one.”

Sameh brightened, smiling up at him even if her stomach flip-flopped nervously, “Really?”

Aza looked at her happy expression with that strange expression again, and for a moment… he looked pained, like he just took a fist to the gut, but it was gone too fast for her to be sure, “Yeah. Really.”

“Now?”

“… yeah, sure.”

Sameh scrambled off the sofa in her haste to get ready before Aza changed his mind – and squeaked when she got tangled up in her scarf and tumbled onto the carpeted floor in a messy spill, banging her knee on the coffee table on the way down. The book she had lying in her lap had tumbled down with her and she landed hard on it, its edge digging right into her stomach, and she let out a quiet grunt of pain. Oof. Ow.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Aza hissed, and she heard the _clomp clomp clomp_ of his boots hurrying around the sofa, “Are you-”

“I’m okay!” Sameh said, quickly untangling herself free. She was a bit bruised, and very embarrassed, but like Ma used to say, she was good at bouncing. She tumbled further out of trees. She sat up, bundling the scarf in her arms, and peered up at Aza. He was looming over her, hovering with his knees slightly bent, like he’d been ready to scoop her up. Worried, Sameh deciding, finding herself tallying another mark for ‘yes’ in the big ‘Is Aza Da?’ question.

“I’m okay,” she repeated, when Aza just lingered there without moving.

That snapped him out of his daze. He straightened up like he’d been stung, shoving his hands into his pockets with forced casualness. But Sameh had seen. He had looked worried, “Oh, good… no, uh, nothing broken?”

“I don’t think so,” Sameh said, clambering to her feet. She had the scarf in a messy bundle against her chest, and picked up the book with the other. She carefully set it on the coffee table and stretched out her leg where she banged her knee. There was a cut, a shallow one, with a fat dribble of red oozing out of it, and normally – normally Sameh was _very grown up_ when it came to bangs and cuts and stuff because she got them loads but never cried but for some reason, looking at the slimy, dark red dribble crawling over her knee made her stomach clench tight and a strong tang of metal hit her nose – even though there was _not enough_ for that smell, but she still smelled it and thought of all the big fat red dribbles that ran over Ma’s skin-

Aza’s gloved hand suddenly covered up her cut knee, hiding the red. Sameh felt clammy and woozy and her lungs too tight as she gasped quietly from the sting of pressure. She was shaking. She wobbled.

“Just a little cut, don’t worry,” Aza told her, tightening his grip on her leg to keep her steady before she fell over. He pulled gently at her, and with a muffled ‘ _thump_ ’, Sameh was gently guided to fall on her butt, feeling ill, holding the scarf tight to her and faintly smelling copper. Aza still had his hand over her stinging knee.

“I-I kn- know,” Sameh managed to choke out, her eyes stinging but her cheeks dry, “C-Cuts don’t hurt. M’not c-cryin’ o-over… over it.”

“It’s okay if you want to,” Aza said, and he lifted his hand slightly, still shielding her cut knee from her sight as he checked it out. “No shame in kids crying about things that hurt. It’s what kids do.”

Sameh said nothing. She buried her nose into the scarf. It smelled of wool, and slight damp – it must’ve been snowing outside when he brought it. The smell of copper slowly faded. She felt the leather of Aza’s glove rub against her cut. It stung a lot, but she wasn’t a _baby_ so she sniffled through the touch until Aza said, “There we go. All better.”

She lowered the scarf, peering at her knee. There was an angry red scrape over her knee with tiny little dots of red – but no more fat red dribbles. She let out a heavy _whoosh_ of air she didn’t realise she had held.

Aza was watching her closely, “Are you gonna puke?”

Sameh’s stomach gurgled unhappily, and she realised she ate too many sausages that morning, but she kept it down, “N-No…”

“Okay,” Aza glanced down at her knee, his mouth twisting wryly, “So, that’s a trigger for you…”

“W-What?”

“Nothing,” Aza shook his head, “Maybe you should stay in today, you’re still looking a bit green around the edges. We can do the outing another ti-”

“No!” Sameh gasped, “No, please, I wanna go out! It’s just a dumb cut! I’m just dumb! I’m okay!”

Aza had leaned back in surprise when she yelped, but very quickly started to frown. Sameh squeaked at that severe expression directed her way, and she hunched low, holding the scarf close to her as she whispered, “S-Sorry.”

“Sameh,” Aza said, his frown softening, “You’re not dumb. This is- well, it’s not _normal_ but, uh, expected after what you’ve… seen. This is, ah… shit, I’m not the person to talk about this…”

Sameh peeked nervously up at him, but he didn’t seem annoyed at her. He was rubbing his ear again, seemingly groping for words.

“… it’s okay, is what I’m trying to say,” Aza finally settled on, “I’ll know what to do if this happens again, okay? I’ll make sure Edmont does too.”

Sameh was confused, but she nodded all the same. Aza gently patted her thigh then pushed himself to his feet. His knees clicked, and he seemed a bit stiff and uncomfortable as he straightened up. After a beat, she climbed to her feet too. Her legs felt like limp noodles, but she got up by herself and hugged the scarf close to herself, taking comfort in its woolly slightly damp smell.

“Go get ready,” Aza murmured, giving her a gentle nudge, “We can go out for a little bit. Fresh air might do you some good. Make sure to put on the clothes I got you, okay?”

“Okay,” Sameh mumbled and slowly ambled away in a daze. Aza watched her go.

She still felt dizzy and confused and mortified. It was a little cut. A tiny, itsy bitsy cut, and she almost cried and felt- felt so sick and… Sameh furiously shook her head, pinching herself hard on the inside of her wrist to knock that horrible feeling out her head. No, it was – it was just a random dumb thing!

She was _fine_.

* * *

The air was so sharp with cold it was like Sameh was breathing in needles.

The courtyard that stretched out before House Fortemps was glittering with frost, and there were a pair of knights lazily shovelling grit over the cold, dark stone. There was barely anyone out, with the sun hidden behind a thick layer of dark clouds. Snow was drifting down in slow, small flakes, and Sameh experimentally stuck her tongue out to catch one. She made a face when she did. Too cold.

“Hm,” Aza sounded displeased about something, “The winter’s really setting in hard this year.”

Sameh peeked up at him, but he was looking away from her. He was peering at the massive castle-building that loomed over all of Ishgard. Its spires punched high into the air, so high that it made he dizzy looking up at them. It look a little intimidating.

Aza began walking suddenly. He kept his steps slow and his stride short, and Sameh briefly delighted in how her boots gripped the floor and how toasty warm her toes were. She really loved these boots – these new clothes – and felt guilty, because she had worn these instead of Ma’s, and there was a small voice in her that said that this was better than anything Ma made for her and it made her feel bad to think. Ma tried her best, and she still liked her clothes best! Just… these were… warmer.

They walked along the length of the Pillars – one of the knights shovelling grit looked up from his work and called out a cheerful greeting. Aza returned it with a casual wave and the knight got back to work. Sameh watched them in open interest, wondering if they had to grit the _whole_ of Ishgard. That sounded like it’d be hard work.

Abruptly, they turned into a narrow street leading off the Pillars. The houses here were smaller than the massive, grand ones like House Fortemps, but no less expensive looking. The street winded, curving slightly downhill, and it was then that Sameh realised she didn’t recognise this street. They didn’t come this way to go to Etranger Alley.

“Um, Aza?” she asked quietly, “Where’re we going?”

“Mm, cottoned on, have you?” Aza said idly, “Yeah, we’re not going to Etranger Alley.”

He didn’t elaborate, and Sameh felt briefly nervous and frightened – before remembering, this was _Aza_. He protected her, and… and she trusted him. She really did. She still found herself gripping the leather strap of Ma’s sword tight though, her stomach a knot of nerves.

They eventually stopped in front of a house at the very end of the street, before it led into a dark tunnel with steep, cracked steps. Sameh shied away from the tunnel stairs, peering up at the house. It was very modest compared to the others on the Pillars, tucked away out of sight, with a dark grey façade and a frosted brass plaque on the wall lining its very tiny personal courtyard. Sameh squinted. The plaque said ‘House Borel’.

“I’m going to regret this,” Aza mumbled, “I really am.”

Sameh looked up at him, “Huh?”

“This house belongs to, mm, a friend, shall we say.”

“A friend?”

“Yeah, he’s sorting out your citizenship for you,” Aza said. He looked hesitant, but then he looked down at smiled at her, holding out his hand, “He’s normally very busy, but today he’s doing some work from home. We’ll say a quick hello.”

Sameh wasn’t sure if they should be bothering someone so busy, but if Aza said he was a friend… well, he’d know best, right? She reached out and took his hand, and Aza pulled her through the brass gate, across the short courtyard and slipped a key out of one of the pouches on his belt. He unlocked the door and paused.

Sameh waited.

“I hope…” Aza began, then trailed off, “… you’ll like him, I’m sure.”

With that puzzling remark, he pushed the door open, pulling her after him. She hurried to keep up. His grip on her hand was tight. Was he the nervous one here?

“Aymeric!” Aza called, and everything about him _changed_. He looked _relaxed_ the moment his foot crossed the threshold, his face softening into an expectant, warm smile of affection – even his voice sounded warmer. Sameh couldn’t help but stare, wondering what magic this Aymeric man had to make Aza brighten up like that. It was amazing.

“Handsome~” Aza called again, playfully, a low churr rumbling in his throat. It was like he was a whole other person, “Get your lazy butt over here, you have an important guest!”

Sameh distantly heard someone shout a reply, and she managed to tear her eyes away from a happily smiling Aza to the entrance hall doorway. She heard the tread of bare feet against carpet, felt herself squeeze Aza’s hand nervously and-

A very handsome man stepped into view – his shirt’s top two buttons were undone, his hair was messy, and he looked very sleepy, but he smiled a beautiful smile when his eyes landed on Aza. That smile didn’t waver when his gaze slid to her, though he did cock his head curiously.

“Aza,” Handsome Man murmured, “This is unexpected. You brought her here?”

“I thought it the better option than dragging her about outside,” Aza said casually, but his tail was swishing nervously and smacking Sameh against the back of her legs, “Is that okay with you?”

“It’s fine, love,” Handsome Man said, and he gave Sameh a very small bow, “Pleasure to meet you, Sameh. I’m Aymeric.”

“Hi,” Sameh said dazedly, suddenly realising something. She looked at Aza. She _recognised_ that happy look on his face. Ma had it when she’d been swishing her tail in that Keeper guy’s face back in Ul’dah. Handsome Man was looking at Aza with the same look. Smiling. He said _love_. Aza said _handsome._ Oh.

 _Oh_.

**_OH._ **

“You’re _that_ kind of friend!” Sameh blurted without thinking, “The naughty biter one!”

Aza made a noise like his soul abruptly died and Handsome Man blinked at her, wrong-footed and speechless.

And thus, Sameh ensured a very _memorable_ first impression to the man managing her citizenship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok im a filthy liar this chapter ended up being Sameh and Aza instead. That's just how things rolled peeps.
> 
> (also yes the gift thing is aza trying to like, figure out how the fuck to deal with Sameh. He's got no idea what he's doing and he hates it)
> 
> Also work is going to be picking up for me A LOT after the weekend. I'm having to do the job of two people and pull 13hr shifts all of the next two weeks so uh, i'll try to keep updating but it'll all depend on energy levels and time ;;w;; I'LL TRY TO UPDATE! But just warning ya'll off in case I don't.
> 
> Please comment/kudos if you enjoyed!


	14. Chapter 14

There was always a sense of bittersweet comfort whenever Thancred returned to the Rising Stones. Too many memories that warmed him and hurt him in turn, so he stayed away to avoid tormenting himself with it. It was easier, even if a part of him acknowledged that it was cowardly. But! At least he was _productive_ in his cowardice, and he crept and slithered through the various lands of Eorzea, picking up information and intelligence that could benefit the Scions. He always returned to the Rising Stones once a fortnight, at least, to deliver a brief report to whichever Scion could make it back there, but he made it as short as possible and struck out elsewhere as soon as it was done.

This night he was delivering his tidings on the ‘Ishgard Situation’, which was, to summarise: bad.

For this meeting, it was the lovely Y’shtola, Alisaie, and Alphinaud, all sitting around a dark wooden table in the bar area of the Rising Stones. It was late, with most people abed – though F’lhammin was not-listening by the bar, rubbing down glasses. Thancred had never really seen her sleep, since Minfillia’s… departure.

As he spoke about Ishgard, he noticed his fellow Scions’ faces turn grimmer and grimmer: Ishgard was meant to be a shining beacon of positive change, an example for Doma and Ala Mhigo to follow in their reconstruction. But now that was rapidly turning sour and government was barely keeping itself functionally together. With rising civil dissent, reports of corrupted knights terrorising and bullying foreign immigrants, Lords scheming behind the scenes (Hilda had grimly informed him that there were ‘plans’ to ‘remove’ Aymeric in some way and have a return to the ‘true Ishgardian way’, whatever that meant) and the Lord Commander’s public fatigue of the whole situation, it left everyone’s moods low. So, Thancred interjected a little bit of lightness into the tail end of his report.

“…and, of course, last but not least,” he drew out, tactically waiting until Alphinaud took a weary sip of his tea, “According to rumours, Aza has brought his _daughter_ to Ishgar-”

It had been worth it. With a shocked splutter, Alphinaud practically spat out his tea.

“ _Daughter_?” Alisaie burst, her earlier dour expression turning into slack-jawed shock, “He has a _daughter_? With _whom_?”

Y’shtola looked annoyingly straight-faced, unruffled by his mischief, “Thancred, this isn’t the time for jests.”

“No jest, I swear,” Thancred hummed, making a crossing gesture over his heart, “I went to see Aza myself, to check the legitimacy of these rumours. Indeed, he has a young Miqo’te in his care. He’s claimed she’s under his guardianship.”

“But not that she’s his daughter,” Y’shtola noted shrewdly.

Alphinaud interrupted them with a cough, his expression embarrassed as he moped up the slight mess he made on the table with his handkerchief, “What is he thinking? From what you have said, Ishgard is the _worst_ place to take his- erm, alleged child.”

“Most likely Aza will want to remain close to the Lord Commander in these trying times,” Alisaie muttered, beginning to frown, “Which… isn’t a good thing, is it?”

Thancred pressed his lips into a thin line. No, it really wasn’t. If Ishgard imploded, which was looking likelier by the day, Aza will not care for reputation or morality if such an event threatened Aymeric’s safety. He had no doubts that Aza would march into the House of Lords and murder every single one who so much as had a periphery involvement in any threat towards Aymeric and his Republic. It was a bitter realisation to swallow about their glorious Warrior of Light, but Thancred prided himself on not being blinded by the title. Aza was loyal – to a _fault_. If he had to make a choice between what was the _right_ thing, and protecting his own… 

“We cannot intervene,” Alphinaud said quietly, though he didn’t look happy about it, “The Scions must remain neutral. If we’re shown to meddle so openly in Ishgard’s new Republic…”

“We did play a part in overthrowing the previous government,” Alisaie pointed out dryly, “Surely this can count as a… peacekeeping operation? It can’t be much different to what we did in Ala Mhigo and Doma.”

“We were ousting Garleans from occupied lands with the Eorzean Alliance, Alisaie,” Alphinaud said in a long-suffering tone, “In this situation we would be a neutral organisation directly meddling in the politics of a sovereign state to ensure it remained to our liking.”

“But we’re stopping a potential coup,” Alisaie protested, “A pointless one that will cause more harm than good for the realm. Anyone would see that!”

“Ul’dah says otherwise,” Y’shtola interjected quietly, “Some would use it against us if it could mean leverage or gain for themselves.”

“It could be spun in so many negative ways…” Alphinaud murmured, resting his elbows on the table and linking his fingers together, hiding his mouth behind them, “It doesn’t help that Aza has already been accused of working with Ser Aymeric to put him into power. From what Thancred says, several political elements view the Republic as a farce of a dictatorship, with Ser Aymeric and his friends at the very top.”

Alisaie made a face like she bit into a very bitter lemon, “That is-”

“True,” Thancred said mildly, “And we cannot deny it. It was for the best, and everyone sitting at this table knows it, but… does the common man? From their point of view, Aza murdered the Archbishop for Ser Aymeric’s power hungry ambition. There is no _physical_ evidence to prove that Thordan was a Primal… only our word.”

“Aza has also heavily compromised himself by publicly being in a relationship with the man,” Y’shtola pointed out. From the beginning she had disapproved of how open Aza and Aymeric had been – they couldn’t begrudge him love, but they all wished that the happy couple used a bit of discretion to avoid these complicated problems, “All of Eorzea knows him as _Ser Aymeric’s_ first and foremost, and a Scion second.”

“Also consider…” Alphinaud said very softly, “If it’s revealed to Aza that someone within the House of Lords plan to remove Ser Aymeric, be it by assassination or other means… what would he do to remove that threat?”

A tense silence fell.

“… we’re forgetting an important point,” Alisaie said, looking a little bothered about the conversation, “Whoever is planning this supposed ‘threat’ towards Ser Aymeric must consider Aza’s response. They know they wouldn’t survive the plot to reap any benefit from it.”

“Unless they find a way to collar Aza somehow,” Thancred mused, “After all, the wording was ‘remove’ Aymeric, not necessarily _kill_ him.”

“Aza could be coerced to stay his hand if any action from himself would cause harm to befall Ser Aymeric,” Y’shtola agreed. 

“And this supposed ‘daughter’ of his is another point of weakness,” Alphinaud pointed out, “And a more vulnerable target than a Lord Commander surrounded by loyal knights almost day and night.”

There was a heavy pause as they all considered the situation. Thancred could just imagine the entire thing unfolding in his mind: an attempted coup by disgruntled Lords, Aymeric coming to harm, Aza retaliating and… no, it would be a disaster. But how to mitigate it? Removing Aza would just hasten the problem, since Thancred was certain it was only the Warrior of Light’s frequent visits to the City State that had kept the volatile situation as stable as it could be. Alisaie was right, only a madman would try anything with Aza within teleporting distance. The fear and respect he inspired kept any plans stalled for the moment.

But if Aza was neutralised in some way…? He doubted they would try to harm him – Aza was, after all, the Warrior of Light and their main bulwark against the Primal and Garlean threat. Harming him would just be stabbing themselves in the foot in the long run… though, from the sounds of it, these potential usurpers didn’t think much in the rational long term. In fact, something about this was giving him a horrible feeling. It just seemed so…

“Is something the matter, Thancred?” Y’shtola asked him.

“It’s just…” Thancred mumbled into his hand, “Something about this rubs me all wrong. The Republic had its teething issues, yes, but it was _working_. Then suddenly it doesn’t? I don’t recall such petty infighting amongst the House of Lords not even half a year ago. It just seems… abrupt.”

Alphinaud frowned, tilting his head thoughtfully, “You’re right… Ishgard was flourishing and was growing closer to the other City States. Now…”

“Sabotage?” Alisaie suggested, “But, no, wait… nothing has _changed_ in the Parliament since it was formed. So, those who would cause sabotage would have been there since the beginning.”

And every member of the House of Lords had been carefully and thoroughly vetted. Oh, there were a handful of potential _troublemakers_ , a list that Lucia had privately sent his way, but they were not the sort to attempt ambitious and potentially _disastrous_ coups. They were greedy, avaricious men who could be trusted to act in a way that would ensure their continued security and comfort. Ishgard embroiled in a breakdown of civil society was the _furthest_ thing from that.

“Thancred, did Hilda say who she thought these Lords were?” Alphinaud asked.

“She had her suspicions,” Thancred admitted warily, “But only from gut feeling and anecdotal information.”

“No solid proof then.”

“None,” Thancred sighed, “She told me to keep an eye on ‘Lord Dounon’. He has been _very_ outspoken against Ser Aymeric in recent times and is known to challenge him on his more liberal policies. But she says he is nothing more than a barking dog, all bluster and no bite. His worst crime is being faintly involved in a smuggling operation that, obviously, had no ties linked to him but swelled his coffers regardless. He might… _potentially_ be linked to this supposed conspiracy, if he felt it would benefit him.”

“It’s the only lead we have,” Alphinaud muttered, “Very well then. Alisaie and I will return to Doma to continue our support of Lord Hien. Y’shtola, would you…?”

Y’shtola stared at Thancred with those eerie, blank eyes of hers for an uncomfortably long moment, “I will go to Ishgard, to see what can be done about this situation,” she smiled a bit wryly at Thancred, “Coming?”

“Of course! I wouldn’t want to miss a conspiracy mystery and a potential, disastrous coup, after all.”

Alisaie was frowning, “Alphinaud, you don’t require me at Doma, yes? I could go with Thancred and Y’shtola-”

“It would be suspicious if more than two Scions began skulking about Ishgard with no good excuse,” Alphinaud said, “And you’re still recovering from your woun-”

“I am _fine_ ,” Alisaie snapped, “Stop using my old injury to keep me from harm’s way.”

Alphinaud fluffed up like an offended water fowl, “I am _not-_ ”

“Enough,” Y’shtola cut in, “Alisaie, we will call for you if required, but someone needs to keep an eye on Alphinaud for the rest of us. We may find the Scions’ coffers empty again if he’s left without supervision, after all.”

Alphinaud looked annoyed at the embarrassing reminder of _that_ incident – and Alisaie, despite the dig at her brother, looked unhappy. They both aimed twin glowers at Y’shtola, who bore it with a flat, blank-eyed stare. Unsurprisingly, the twins looked away with quiet ‘hmphs’ of equal frustration.

They parted ways soon after that. Alphinaud and Alisaie prepared for their trip back to Doma, and Y’shtola her travel bag for Ishgard. Thancred lingered by the door that led to the tavern above, feeling apprehensive about he entire thing. There was just a heavy feeling of _dread_ looming over him, an anticipation that _something_ was happening, something awful, that he could not perceive.

What had they missed? How did Ishgard descend into such difficulty so quickly? Aza had complained often about some Lords butting heads with Aymeric, but they hadn’t paid it much mind, thinking Aza was being sensitive on his partner’s behalf. But… had they missed something vital by dismissing his concerns out of hand? Thancred felt unsettled by the thought.

But they would put it to right now, he vowed to himself. He and Y’shtola will travel to Ishgard, try to render what aid they could without violating the Scions’ neutrality… potentially unearth this supposed coup plan and prevent it before Aza caused yet another government change within Ishgard via liberal application of murder.

Thancred sighed at the thought.

He had a feeling this was easier said than done.

* * *

Aymeric could see why some people mistook Sameh as Aza’s own flesh and blood now. She was bold, tactless and _stubborn_.

“So, do you two need a box to kiss?” Sameh asked them curiously from her spot in front of the fireplace, “Or do you, um, squat down?”

Aza made an indescribable noise from where he was lying face down on the carpet. He had adopted that position the moment they managed to relocate the embarrassing situation into the living room and in front of the fire. His partner was sprawled out on his belly, his face buried into his crossed arms, looking very much like he wanted to be anywhere else but here. Sameh sat next to him, looking reluctant to leave his side.

“Ah, it depends,” Aymeric said carefully, not liking this very unfamiliar situation. He never dealt much with children – the only time he had was whenever he was rescuing them from bandits or dragon attacks back during his days as a knight, and that had normally been a brisk check to ensure all limbs were intact before tossing them at the Chirugeon. Being interrogated by one was… oddly nerve-wracking. He felt like he was dealing with a highly suspicious _inquisitor_ , she was that tenacious with getting an answer. 

“On what?” Sameh asked, wide-eyed. She looked adorable and she _weaponised that_ , Aymeric was sure. He struggled to resist the pleading, puppy-dog pout.

“Well, on what we’re… doing…”

“Like naughty biting?”

“Please,” Aza’s muffled voice mumbled, “Stop saying that.”

“Why?” Sameh twisted to look at his partner, “I know what it is. It’s not a bad word.”

“It’s adult things,” Aymeric said a tad lamely.

Sameh’s tail thumped against the carpet, her ears tilting back a fraction. She was frustrated, Aymeric did the exact same thing, and she crossed her arms over her chest. She had removed her poncho-coat after the initial mortifying greeting and was sitting in her snow-flake patterned breeches and a tunic with a lovely snow flower stitched onto the left breast. Aza didn’t skimp on her clothes, it seemed. The sword she had walked in with was resting on the carpet next to her, and its silver sheath danced with shimmering red and gold reflections of the hearth’s fire.

“… ten’s old,” Sameh mumbled, almost too quiet to hear, “I’m not a baby.”

Aymeric wasn’t quite sure what to say to that – ten years old _was_ a baby in his opinion, but Aza finally rolled over onto his back with a sigh. Without hesitating, he reached out and hooked his gloved fingers into the back of Sameh’s shirt and _pulled_.

Sameh let out a high-pitched squeak of surprise, toppling backwards and making her arms pinwheel to keep her balance. She _just_ about stopped herself from sprawling over Aza’s belly, only to let out another squeak when Aza pulled again, almost… playfully?

“Hey!” Sameh half-whined, half-laughed, wriggling and trying (and failing) to wriggle free from Aza’s insistent tugging and pulling. She ended up with her tunic pulled half-way over her head, her little ears sticking straight up and her arms flailing around near comically. Aymeric had to look away, muffling his laughter into his hand.

“Oh, look, it’s a silly kitty turtle,” Aza sniggered, and after one last tug, he let go and-

“ _Ah_!”

_‘THUMP!’_

-caused Sameh to topple backwards onto the floor with a very solid (and painful) sounding thump.

Aymeric and Aza both froze, and Sameh, sprawled out on the floor, her tunic wrapped around her head and trapping her arms in place, let out a quiet groan of pain, wriggling like a stuck caterpillar. She clearly hadn’t expected Aza to let go. 

“ _Shit_ ,” Aza quickly shuffled to her, pulling at her tunic to free her, and Aymeric got up from the sofa to move in close, “I’m _so sorry_ , Sameh.”

With a few quick yanks, Aza managed to pull Sameh’s tunic back over her head. The girl looked a bit dazed, but aside from messy hair and slightly flushed cheeks, she seemed fine. She just blinked a bit rapidly, clearly disorientated, and stared up at Aza for a moment. Then;

“That was fun!” she chirped, sitting up and almost scaring Aza out of his skin by how he flinched back, “I think I banged my elbow though, owie…”

Aza stared at her like she started speaking ancient Allagan, and Aymeric found himself relaxing. He had half-expected tears and a panicking Aza, but Sameh was made of sterner stuff. She didn’t even let out a sniffle. With a quiet sigh, he joined them on the carpet, sitting cross-legged as Sameh briskly rubbed at her banged elbow, puffing at her fringe flopping into her eyes.

“You’re… fine,” Aza said, not quite a question, not quite a statement. He looked unsure.

Sameh looked up from where she was inspecting her elbow, “Yeah. I’m okay.”

“Children bounce,” Aymeric told Aza, who just frowned, “The floor is carpeted too. You didn’t hurt her at all.”

“Okay…” Aza said slowly, his expression blanking a little. He was clearly uncomfortable.

Sameh looked at Aza for a moment, then at Aymeric, then back at Aza. A small frown touched her expression, and then she swivelled completely to Aymeric, reaching out to timidly pull at his sleeve and gestured for him to lean down.

Bemused, Aymeric did so.

“You need to make him smile again,” Sameh whispered not-so-quietly to him, “Maybe you should bite him.”

It took every scrap of willpower Aymeric possessed to keep his expression utterly straight. Aza, who very clearly heard, reddened, his blank expression cracking into one of peevish embarrassment.

“Sameh,” Aza said repressively, “Stop with the biting thing.”

“But you went all sad,” Sameh grumbled, releasing Aymeric and glancing at Aza uncertainly, “You’re all, um, distant and cold and stuff, but, then you came here and you were all _happy_. And I… liked that. You’re less scary. So, um, I thought, Mister Aymeric can, um, do the adult thing and… make you happy again.”

It was almost too quick, but Aymeric saw the brief burst of hurt that crossed Aza’s face.

“… I’m scary?”

“Mm… like now. You’re all, um…” Sameh waved a hand over her face, making her expression go comically flat, “And, um, you seem all… sad and, um. I-I like you though! Um, you keep me safe and, and you do nice things, so even if you’re scary you’re, um… I like you…”

Sameh trailed off in the face of Aza’s blank staring, bowing her head to fidget with her sleeves. Aza glanced at Aymeric, his expression shifting into one of helpless confusion. He wasn’t sure what to do – and Aymeric wasn’t sure either. This was clearly an issue that Aza and Sameh needed to solve between themselves, especially if they ended up going the adoption route for her citizenship. Still… he tried to help him out.

“Sameh, Aza is just… shy,” Aymeric finally said, “He finds it difficult to express himself, you see, so he unintentionally comes across as scary.”

Sameh slowly lifted her head, peeking up at him, then Aza, “Shy?”

“Uh… yeah,” Aza agreed clumsily, his cheeks going pink again, “I’m shy, I guess. I’m not very good with… emotions. Looking emotional. So.”

Sameh seemed to think about it for a moment.

“Okay,” she said, sitting up straighter and nodding, “I get it. You’re emotionally consi -ski- scri- _conscripted_.”

There was a long pause.

“Emotionally… huh?” Aza blurted, looking bewildered.

“I think that was meant to be ‘constipated’,” Aymeric whispered to him sotto voce.

“ _Huh_?”

“Oh, that was it!” Sameh crowed, “Emotionally con-sti-pa-ted! You’re emotionally constipated! That’s what Ma said. S’when your emotions get all, um, bunged up, and you need to poop them out? In rage dumps?”

“ _What_ ,” Aza spluttered, “That’s not- what- the hell is a _rage dump_?”

“A very angry poop. It makes you less mad. Maybe you need to do a really big one?”

“I don’t need an angry poop!”

“Oh, by the Fury…” Aymeric muttered, covering his face in fond exasperation as Aza and Sameh began to argue about the merits of _angry poop_. What even…

It made him smile, though. The awkwardness that almost descended on them was gone, and Aza looked… he was smiling, even when arguing with a ten-year-old about _poo_ of all things. For all his talk of fears of hurting her, of being a horrible influence, he seemed to be doing… okay? Well enough? It was too early to tell, Aymeric knew but… he knew it would be fine.

Looking between the two, he really could see it. The resemblance other people saw. Differing looks aside… they really did seem, at that moment, like father and daughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh look there's the plot again. 
> 
> SO YEAH. THANCRED. Y'SHTOLA. PLOT. THROWS HANDS UP INTO THE AIR. 
> 
> also i always wanted to address the fact that in HW people kinda... pointed out the fact that Aza just went and killed the archbishop which CONVENIENTLY benefited Aymeric a whole lot, and all they had was Aza's word that "HE WAS A PRIMAL SO UH, HE HAD TO DIE, YUP" and anyone that would back them up were all Scions or best mates with Aza/Aymeric. So, yeah, I'm suspecting there're probably a few people who are like "was Archbishop Thordan REALLY a Primal or was it an excuse?" 
> 
> Or, least, that's what I'm running with so ya. ha. hahahahaha. 
> 
> work is crushing my sanity, as you can see. 
> 
> Please comment/kudos if you enjoyed!


	15. Chapter 15

Sameh woke up with a small jerk and a gasp.

It took her a few, groggy moments to realise where she was, Ma’s sword crushed tight to her chest, her fingers clasped in a white-knuckled grip over her ‘pillow-dagger’, buried underneath thick blankets in Edmont’s too nice home. She panted shortly, feeling her nightwear cling to her from a cold sweat, and let go of the dagger to push the blankets away.

She had dreamt of Ma again, but this time it had been the wolves biting her and ripping her apart, but they had the Bad Men’s faces and there had been red and pinkish-blue snakes and Sameh had been buried under it and she _smelled_ it and thought she was going to _suffocate_ and… but it was a dream. It had been the blankets. It… it was nothing.

She rolled onto her back, the blankets bunched over her hips as she stared up at the dark blue canopy that stretched over her bed. Ma’s sword rested heavily over her chest, its leather wrapped hilt hovering just over her cheek. The lion head snarled at her.

She was sick of this.

She was sick of those terrible, awful dreams creeping over her at night. They didn’t even make sense! They were all jumbled up and got Ma’s- the attack all wrong. But it always had those wolves, chopped up, the Bad Men, Ma sprawled out in the snow… sometimes Aza was there, but those dreams were the scariest, because his blade would flash and everything would die, and his eyes would be so red they hurt to look at and something in her _gut_ just felt fear. He would never hurt her though. Never. She… she was sure, anyways…

Sameh squeezed her eyes shut and desperately cast her memory to yesterday. Aza had smiled and been warm in Mister Aymeric’s home. His golden eyes held affection and he had lounged and been so relaxed and spoke to her like Ma would… Sameh had loved it. After the awkward bit where she was a dummy and fell over and Aza got nervous about it, he had _played_ with her. In a weird way – he did stuff where she’d have to wriggle free from when he grabbed her or try to get him to stop prodding her ticklish spots like her stomach and throat (he _actually_ encouraged biting to keep his hands away), but Sameh found it fun all the same.

Mister Aymeric had been really nice too. He was kind of like Aza, in that he didn’t seem like he knew what to do with her, but he was kind. He made Aza happy too. Sameh liked Aza better when he was happy. He played with her, smiled, _looked_ at her… maybe Mister Aymeric was right. Maybe Aza really was shy and didn’t know how to express himself unless he was all comfy. In which case… Sameh just had to get him all comfy with _her_ , right?

But Aza was never comfy when he came here. Something about Edmont made him sad, and the house made him upset, though Sameh didn’t understand why. So, she needed to go _outside_ with him, right? Right.

Sameh sat up, a determined plan forming. When Aza came to visit her again, she was going to ask for them to go out. Maybe to Etranger Alley and- and make him happy, so he would smile and play with her again. She craved it. She really did. It made her feel homesick but happy and- and- and-

And… wanted.

(She ignored the wriggling bad feeling in her gut, that whispered she was just trying to replace Ma)

* * *

Sameh soon discovered she had slept in late that morning, despite feeling like she hadn’t slept at all.

She had gotten changed and slinked out ready to stake out the entrance hall for Aza… only to be captured by one of Edmont’s new manservants, Atont, who promptly sent her to bathe. She went without much fussing, because the baths here reminded her of the hot springs in Bronze Lake. They were warm and smelled nice and large enough that she could paddle a little. She was largely left alone when bathing, though Atont would knock on the door every five minutes to make sure she hadn’t drowned. It kind of irritated her because she wasn’t dumb – _and_ knew how to swim.

There was a little window, misted from steam and patterned with ripples, that sat above the marble bathtub. After growing bored with paddling about the _huge_ tub, Sameh crossed her arms on the thick, flat rim and peered through the clouded glass. All she could see were warped shapes, dark and twisting – and a little latch at the bottom of the window. Sameh promptly opened it.

And very nearly slammed it shut again when an icy blast of air cut right through her. She gritted her teeth, shoving the window out further, and peered out. The Pillars courtyard glittered under the late morning sunlight from frost, with the other fancy houses squaring up on the other side of it – there were a couple of knights strolling up and down the street, a different pair to yesterday laying down grit, and two people dressed in thick, fancy furs were standing not far from the front of House Fortemps, staring at it. Sameh squinted at them curiously, wondering if they were nobles.

The one on the left was lanky, even for an Elezen. His hair was dark and long, but she couldn’t make out his face. His furs were jet black, and he was watching the Fortemps knights walk their route up and down along the front of the house. His companion was stockier, with pale, short hair, and a bright red fur coat that _really_ clashed with his hair. He was looking up at the House. Sameh slinked down a bit, so only her eyes were peering through the cracked open window in case he spotted her.

They were weird, but they were just looking. Sameh watched them for a while before growing bored. They weren’t doing anything but staring. One of the Fortemps knights stopped to talk to them. They spoke. The knight went away. The nobles stared for a bit longer then…

Then they turned away from House Fortemps and walked off, heads bent together in deep conversation.

How weird, Sameh thought, before wrenching the window closed and going back to paddling about in the bath, thinking no more on the matter.

* * *

“This is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.”

“Shut up, Sid,” Aza muttered, carefully weighing a pair of shortswords in each hand. They were light, well-balanced… but too heavy for a ten-year-old to effectively swing about. They were also built for thrusting, not slashing, which… yeah, Sameh wouldn’t have the raw strength to thrust this blade through naked flesh, let alone a man armoured in leather. Slashing, at least, required little to no finesse. A wildly swung, sharp blade would make any man flinch if taken by surprise.

“She already _has_ a sword,” Sid continued, perfectly imitating a thundery storm cloud with how he glowered at him in the middle of Kihja’s shop. The poor omnicrafter looked extremely nervous from where she hovered close by – and frazzled. Aza had kept her working to the bone to complete Sameh’s clothes as rapidly as possible while keeping up quality, which he felt mildly bad about, but he was sure it was normal for omnicrafters.

(Then again, his frame of reference for crafters was Felyx who was no mere mortal and frequently chugged his ‘Crafter’s Tea’, which had no tea in it but a lot of Ishgardian Moonshine, Radz-at-Han coffee and some ‘mystery liquid’ that was highly suspected to be some kind of illegal stimulant drug)

“She can’t use that sword,” Aza pointed out, carefully putting the short swords back on their stands, “Even her dagger was one of my spares… no, she needs one she can call _hers_.”

“Um,” Kihja cut awkwardly, looking like she instantly regretted it when Aza focused on her, “Warrior of Light, sir, I don’t mean to question your, ah, parenting abilities, but, um, your Sameh is… ten?”

Aza’s ear twitched at ‘parenting abilities’, pushing past the tight clench of discomfort at the mere thought of him ‘parenting’ anybody, and said, “Yeah, she is.”

“Then, maybe you should wait a few years?” Kihja suggested, “I mean, my own Ma didn’t let me touch a knife until I was twelve summers, and that was just to help her prepare food for cooking. Maybe let her grow a bit, get some strength and height?”

“ _Thank you_ ,” Sid burst, “Yes, listen to the only other sane person in this building-”

Somewhere amongst the coats on the other side of the store, Rielle coughed loudly and pointedly.

“…listen to the crafter,” Sid finished sullenly.

“On the Azim Steppes, children as young as eight handle knives – and not just to prepare game,” Aza said tightly, feeling irritated at being questioned, “Sameh is in danger because of her association with me, and I will not leave her defenceless just because it offends some Eorzean sensibilities to arm a ten-year-old.”

“You’re arming a _traumatised_ ten-year-old girl and telling her she’s in danger from unknown strangers,” Sid said bluntly, “Tell me you see an issue with this _somewhere_.”

Aza scowled because, well, he saw Sid’s point. It was infuriating but he refused to admit it. Sameh was tough, he _knew_ that, and while he was expecting a few tears, maybe an odd panic attack and Aza enduring a startled shank or two, the end result would be Sameh having the means to _protect herself_. She would have that assurance, she would have that _knowledge_. That was the important thing. _That_ was what helped Aza, and he was sure it’ll help here too. He just… needed people to stop _doubting_ him. He may be a crappy brother and an equally disastrous father-in-the-making, but he _knew_ fear and helplessness, and fuck it, he was going to give Sameh the means to fight against those even if it meant putting a sword directly into the hand of a traumatised girl.

So, he turned his back to Sid and looked at Kihja who looked very much like she wanted the ground to swallow her up whole, “I want a sword custom-made to fit into Sameh’s hand. Can you do that?”

“Uh-”

“ _Aza_ ,” Sid growled.

“Maybe a light mithril vest too,” Aza continued blithely, ignoring Sid’s glare scorching the back of his head, “For protection.”

“Um…”

“And I want it done by tomorrow night at the latest,” Aza finished, seeing Kihja blanch at that, “I’ll triple the commission price.”

Kihja was torn by self-preservation and greed, he could see it in her conflicted, albeit horrified expression. Eventually, Kihja indulged him in his horrible life’s choices, “I-I can try, but no promises…”

“That’s fine. Just get it done as soon as,” Aza said, already thinking of a training regime for Sameh. As a child, he couldn’t do anything too strenuous with her unless he wanted to hurt her, but maybe he could train her up on a wooden sword first? Get her to learn the mechanics and how to do parries and feints and the like – maybe today? Oh, shoot, that’s right, he hadn’t visited her yet. He should go do that…

But first he needed to get a wooden practice sword.

* * *

Once Sameh was cleaned to Atont’s satisfaction, she was released from the bathroom, dressed and smelling fresh.

She instantly squatted at the entrance hall’s door with a book. It was a little difficult to read in some places because it used hard words, but she liked the story. It was about a girl who wanted to be a brave, noble knight, but everyone laughed at her because she wasn’t very good at fighting. But she _was_ smart, and she worked very hard, and currently she was outwitting a dragon and Sameh was very eager to see how that panned out.

So eager she almost forgot that she was meant to be staking out for Aza. She would peek up every so often from her story, then get sucked back into it, then look up, then down at the book, then up, then down, then up…

…

Two hours passed. It was now almost noon.

Sameh began to get nervous.

Her butt hurt from sitting on the floor for so long, and also… Aza should be on his second visit by now. Where was he? Had he… had he finally gotten tired of her? Did she do something yesterday that made him annoyed at her? She didn’t remember him being annoyed. He had been smiling when dropping her off back at Edmont and had fondly ruffled her hair. Maybe he was doing Warrior of Light things. She kept forgetting Aza was that, sometimes, even if he was scary and intense. Maybe he was fighting a _Primal_. Or a Garlean Army!

That didn’t make her feel much better, because she also knew that Aza had a very stiff leg, limped a lot, would sometimes make that soft, churring noise of pain Miqo’te did when they were aching very bad. Should he be fighting like that? What if it made him lose and he got hurt…?

Sameh shook her head to dislodge those thoughts and turned back to her book, though she wasn’t very interested in it now. Her mind kept creeping back to Aza getting hurt fighting some powerful monster, and being like Ma, all covered in red and lying on the ground not moving and- _no_. He was the Warrior of Light! He never loses! Not once!

She bonked her forehead with the book’s hard leather cover, pressing her face into it and letting out a sharp breath.

She wished her mind would stop thinking bad things. She didn’t want to think them but her brain would make them anyway and push them at her. She hated it. She wished…

“Sameh? What’re you doing?”

Sameh squeaked and jumped in surprise, the book tumbling out of her hands to land on her lap. Hand clasped against her chest, she looked up to see Aza leaning over her looking amused, his arms behind his back. She instantly flushed bright red.

“I-I was- um! Reading!”

“Reading…” Aza said very slowly, “By smooshing your face into the book cover.”

“Um, it’s, um, a secret way to read…”

Aza smiled at her. Sameh briefly forgot her embarrassment, perking up like a flower leaning towards the sun.

“Well, if you don’t mind me distracting you from your ‘reading’,” Aza said, “I have a present for you.”

Sameh wasn’t surprised – she was half-expecting another pair of boots or a coat or something, and tilted her head expectantly, trying to peer around the older man, “Is it a coat?”

“Nope.”

“Um, a scarf?”

“I gave you one of those yesterday.”

“Umm, then gloves!”

“Nuh uh,” Aza grinned, a bright, boyish expression that made him look younger, and presented his gift with great flourish. It was…

“A stick?” Sameh blurted, squinting at it. It was a very nice stick, all dark polished wood and smooth, sleek lines, but it was still a stick. She was a little disappointed. She hoped for another coat… “Is it to poke people?”

“Uh, no, it’s…” Aza faltered, clearly wrong-footed at her reaction. His smile faded, “It’s a wooden practice sword to, uh, practice fighting. With swords.”

“Oh,” Sameh blinked, “For _me_ to practice?”

“Yeah…”

Sameh wasn’t sure what to think about that. She tried to imagine herself using the sword, swinging it about like Ma did, all confident and strong – but then her mind went to Ma staggering when that arrow hit her leg, and her sword missed a block and the Bad Man ran her through the stomach. She would have to practice that stuff, wouldn’t she? Even with a wooden sword, she’ll practice… running people through, when, when people miss a block, and, Sameh would have to learn how to block, when people tried to run _her_ through. She lowered her gaze to the book in her lap, feeling queasy and clammy and not very happy at all.

But Aza had been excited. Aza wanted to teach her. He had _smiled_ and _wanted_ to teach her. If she refused, would he hate her? Would he get mad? Would he be all disappointed and think she was ungrateful and awful and stop visiting her? She felt kind of dizzy trying to figure it out. Should she say she didn’t want to learn? Or, maybe try a bit, then, then fake illness for lessons until he dropped them so she didn’t hurt his feelings? Or should she…

“Sameh?” Aza sounded worried, and she heard him kneel next to her, “Are you okay?”

Sameh wiped her sweaty palms on her thighs and looked up with a forced smile, “Yup! I was thinking. I’ll practice sword stuff.”

Aza was eyeing her closely, clearly doubtful, “…are you sure?” he said slowly, and Sameh couldn’t read his expression. She wanted his smile back, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I won’t make you do it.”

“I’ll do it,” Sameh said stubbornly, fighting down the queasy feeling in her belly. Go away! She told it, I’m stronger than you! “I-I wanna… know how to fight…”

Aza knew she was lying. She could see it his eyes.

“I don’t think you do,” he said slowly, his face dropping into a frown. Sameh’s heart dropped. Oh no, he was going to hate her! “Damn it. Sid was right…”

“I’ll learn!” she said desperately, “I’ll pick it up fast! Please don’t be mad-”

“Sameh,” Aza said sharply, and she shut up so fast her teeth hurt when they clicked together. She thought he was going to yell, but he didn’t. His expression softened, and he smiled, though it was a sad one and he reached out and gently patted her head like she was a dog.

“I’m not mad,” he told her, “I’m disappointed but… that’s my thing. I’ll deal with that. It’s not your fault that I’m an idiot, and you don’t need to sacrifice your happiness to spare my feelings, okay? In fact, use that as a life’s lesson in general. Anyone asks you to do something that’ll make you uncomfortable or unhappy, don’t be afraid to say no.”

Sameh hesitated, peeking up at him from underneath your fringe. She swallowed nervously, “S-So, if I say I don’t wanna learn sword stuff… you won’t be mad?”

“I won’t be mad,” Aza confirmed, “I mean, you can always change your mind later, I guess, but I’m not gonna put this in your hand and tell you to learn if you don’t want to. I’m not… I won’t do that. I won’t ever make you do anything you don’t want to.”

Aza looked at the sword in his hand at that, and for a moment he was somewhere else, somewhere sad Then he shook his head and looked at her with a wan smile.

“Let’s just pretend this never happened,” he said weakly, leaning back until he was sitting on his butt next to her on the floor, “What’re you reading? A good book?”

Sameh felt a bit off-kilter from the subject change, but she grabbed at it eagerly, “U-Um, yes! It’s about- about a knight who’s, who’s not very good at fighting, but um, she’s smart and can do riddles and stuff, and she tricked a dragon…”

Aza listened attentively, the wooden sword resting across his lap. Sameh found her eyes drawn to it, and each time she would get a horrible twist in her belly. Ma’s sword was a comfort, but she knew she’d never use it. It was a piece of Ma to carry with her. The dagger was… she just liked holding it, and whenever she tried to think of _stabbing_ anyone with it she felt curiously light headed so she just didn’t think about it.

She kept thinking of red. She kept thinking of Ma. Of the Bad Man’s sword going through her. Then their swords chopping at her. Aza cutting those wolves in half. Swords were scary. The thought of picking one up and swinging it, cutting something open and red spewing and pink-blue snakes tumbling _out_ …

Sameh pushed those thoughts down deep, imagined pushing a rock on top of them, and promptly decided not to think about it anymore. Instead she regaled Aza with the Tale of the Witty Knight, until she could breathe without it catching in her throat, Aza attentive and smiling at her.

He didn’t hate her when she said no. It was okay. This was okay. Sameh hadn’t ruined it.

She could still see the sword though, and a part of her wondered that as the Warrior of Light’s daughter, shouldn’t she know how to fight? Wouldn’t he be more like Da if she took after him? Would he… love her like a daughter if she became a strong swordsman like him?

Sameh didn’t know.

She peeked one more time at the sword and decided that she will have to try. She _will_ try. She will. She fight this awful, horrible feeling, she’ll stop being frightened, she’ll stop her brain thinking these horrible things. She will. She _will_.

Just… not right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the 13hr work shift is killing me slowly inside holy fuck 
> 
> i get home and am like I WILL WRITE but then it's like squeezing blood from a stone bc i'm so tired l o l work pls you're destroying my creative spirit here! 
> 
> so yeah, apologies for the fillerish chapter. I was gonna have Thancred and Y'shtola in this one but the chapter already went over 3000 and I have been mulling over this for a week almost so the dynamic duo will turn up next chapter instead! Yayaaaaaaaaaaaa
> 
> Please comment/kudos if you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> So this is something I wrote AGES ago but sat on my harddrive for eons before I decided to just poke at it... and then apparently finished this first chapter without realising oops. This was an idea I had when I was planning out Aza's horrible no good past, as a kind of... thing. I don't know. Honestly, I'm not sure whether to continue this. The idea is accidental adoption of traumatised child??? but it'll go horrible. Awful. So bad. Maybe if Aza went halfsies with someone who had their shit together like the Scions and maybe his FC. 
> 
> Idk, what do you guys think? 
> 
> Anyway, pls kudos/comment, etc, etc, etc. I'm gonna try and get MY shit together so I can relax enough to update either Bluebird or Oil and Water. Hrf. Adult life is haaaaard...


End file.
